A Warlock's Wish
by Vividpast
Summary: In the midst of capturing a magical creature, Merlin is transported to a world where Camelot is home to thousands of magic-users. Merlin plans to get back to his own reality. To do that, however, he must get inside the castle. The only way in is to pass the Apprentice Exam and be an apprentice to a magic-user inside Camelot court. Should be easy...right? Full summary inside.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** *facepalms* I've left this fandom. I swear I've left this fandom for good. But like a rubber band, I keep snapping back to it. Damn you, Merlin! I'm trying to write for another king and his lionheart!

Anyway, this idea has been stewing in the back of my mind for at least 3 years. I've decided to write it so it will stop bothering me. Warning, as usual: it might not go past this chapter.

ANYONE IS FREE TO ADOPT THE IDEA (please, please do). This will be loosely based on The Magisterium Series by Holly Black and Cassandra Clare. I really like the 'unexpectedly powerful apprentice cliché'.

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 **Summary:** In the midst of capturing a magical creature, Merlin is transported in a world where Camelot is home to thousands of magic-users. It is King Uther's life that is taken in exchange for Prince Arthur's and Queen Ygraine sits on the throne.

Merlin plans to get back to his own reality, to his own Arthur. To do that, however, he must have access to magical books, which are inside a shielded castle protected by hundreds of sorcerers. The only way in is to participate in the Apprentice Exam and be an apprentice to a magic-user included in Camelot's court. Should be easy . . . right?

Conspiracies are afoot and Merlin just knows that, somehow, he is or will be involved. Just his luck.

 **AO3 Tags:** **Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence × Alternate Universe - Fantasy × Magical Realism × Magic-Users × Angst and Humor × Mostly humor ×BAMF Merlin × Bromance**

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 **THINGS TO NOTE**

\- This story occurs after season 4 but before season 5.

\- Lancelot lives! Some other loyal knight of Camelot that will remain nameless sacrifices himself to the veil.

\- Arthur does not propose to Gwen nor do they get married. Seeing Lancelot still lives, Gwen's heart is torn between them. Arthur and Lancelot realize this and back off for a while to let Gwen figure her feelings out.

\- I promise you I revived Lancelot for a purpose and not just because I want him to live. I swear to you it's an important plot point!

\- Although this is tagged as Merlin/Arthur, the romance is secondary and may just remain preslash. Plot, friendship and magic come first, I'm afraid!

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 **Prologue**

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Loksni rearranges the vials on the booth, making sure they are aligned with one another. His sister will tease him about being nitpicky has she come with. As it is, Loksni can only hear her voice in his head. Loksni would argue that, being a potion-maker, precision is everything. Lest the customers grow hair in the strangest of places.

The cauldron on the corner of the table bubbles and pops, the mixture inside turning a liquid gold. Loksni turns and attends to it. A second more and it will be overcooked, thus, be rendered useless. _Drýcræftéaca_ has always been a popular potion at this time of the year, what with the Apprentice Exam just a few days away. Nervous and arrogant young sorcerers and mages will drink it in the hopes increasing their chances of success. Of course, the exam's officials always catch them and so, they get disqualified instead. The youth never learns. But business is business, Loksni supposes. If they are stupid enough to try and cheat the most prestigious event of the year, then he shall not hesitate to take advantage of them.

A shadow befalls the cloth-covered table of his stall. Loksni hurriedly mutters, " _Ácwincan_ " to extinguish the fires in the stove. He'll put the _drýcræftéaca_ in bottles later. For now, he has a customer.

He lifts his gaze and meets the frightened eyes of a dark-haired young man. Loksni frantically glances around for any kind of threat. After a moment of fright himself, he has found nothing but his potions and the glare of Brina two stalls to the left. (That confusing woman. He does not know what he has done to earn her continuous ire.)

He turns back to the pale young man. "Good morning, young sir," Loksni greets like a good merchant, a hint of wariness coloring his tone. After all, the young man is still looking at him as if he has done a terrible deed. "Is – Is there anything I can help you with?"

The young man, a servant going by his tattered clothes, opens and closes his mouth like a landed fish.

Loksni patiently waits, an idea niggling at him. Perhaps . . . the young man is a bit . . . touch in the head. Not that Loksni is judging. All sorts come to his store. In fact, he has a few mixtures that can remedy such afflictions, although not completely and certainly not permanently. Performing magic that involves the mind, no matter how well-intentioned, usually does not end well.

Finally, words come out from the servant. "Y-You used – You just used magic!" He exclaims. Then, he slaps a hand over his mouth, paling and trembling slightly. His eyes dart around the area so fast, Loksni fears they might pop out.

" . . . Yes?" Loksni is utterly bewildered. Maybe he is the first mage the young man has ever encountered? Thinking about it, the servant is probably new to the city, seeing as Loksni does not recognize him. "I am a mage, sir."

"Shh!" Loksni tries not to feel offended about being shushed. "You . . ." The young man lowers his voice. "You can't say or _do_ things like that. This is _Camelot."_

Loksni blinks, confusion only growing. His assumption of mental-affliction is sounding more feasible by the minute. "And what is wrong with doing magic in Camelot?"

The young man squawks, hands flailing. It is a comical sight and Loksni fights off a smile. "What's _wrong_ with – It's –" His blue eyes catch something and he halts mid-sentence. He turns his head, gaping.

Loksni follows his gaze. Young boys are playing enthusiastically with a dirty red ball. One waves his right arm in a sharp arc and the ball flies high above their heads. The other holds out a palm, steadying the toy in the air. Behind them, a few feet away, a young girl is weaving colors in the air; it is after all easier to remove the painting mistakes without a canvas. Two young men, both probably planning to take the exam, are whirling their hands to steal globs of water from the water well and mold them in the air. Both form perfect spheres. Loksni is impressed. No one young would have such mastery over the element of water.

The young man sucks in a sharp breath and Loksni's attention turns to him once more.

"What . . . What's happening?" The young man looks terribly puzzled and no little bit scared. "No one's getting arrested. They're all doing magic . . ."

"Getting arrested?" Despite himself, Loksni's voice rises in incredulity. "For doing magic?"

Anger sparks in his chest. There are always people who will be prejudiced against magic-users, he knows. There will always be an underlying fear of being taken advantage of by sorcerers and mages. But that can happen in any field with any kind of craft besides magic. Even so, there are some who is biased against the magical arts just because they themselves cannot hope to have the ability.

Loksni hopes he never gets to meet one of those people. Too late for that, it seems.

"If you are hoping to find a place such as that, good _sir_ ," Loksni could not help but spit out. "Then, Camelot should be the last place in your list. It has been the center and home of thousands of magic-users for many years and it shall be so for many more. Now, if you're just here to give insult, then I suggest going to another stall for your potions." Loksni starts to turn his back to him, barely containing his temper. The nerve! "Good day now!"

"No, no, wait, please," the servant pleads so earnestly that Loksni could not help but pause. "I didn't mean to offend. It's just –" The young man rubs the back of his neck, eyes lowered. "Back in my hometown, magic . . . is a bit of a taboo."

Loksni's brows shoot up. "It's forbidden?" The servant must have come from a truly far away kingdom. No kingdom with an association to Camelot has ever had any kind of law against harmless magic.

"Yes." The young man winces.

Loksni's anger diminishes. Such a poor lifestyle this servant has led, one without magic in the midst. He could barely imagine it.

The man looks contemplative for a few moments.

"I – I know this might sound like a strange question but . . . what year is it?"

Loksni blinks. Perhaps not mentally-afflicted but merely losing memories. He has a potion for that too. "It is the twenty-fifth year of Queen Ygraine's reign," he replies slowly.

The young man blanches even more. Loksni, for one moment, thinks he is going to pass out. But the moment passes and the young man stutters out, "Queen Y-Ygraine?"

Then, the young surges forward, palms slapping the table. Some of the vials rattle and Loksni's display turns into a bit of a disarray. He casts an irritated glance at the cause.

"What about A—King Arthur? Blond-hair, blue eyes, bit of a prat –"

"Yes, yes, I know what Prince Arthur looks like," Loksni cuts off, rearranging the bottles once more. "And it's _Prince_ , not King. I should hope the queen lives decades more before her heir takes the throne."

The young man gapes unbecomingly. Loksni sighs. "Is there anything more? I'm afraid I have a store to run, sir," he says just a shy disrespectful.

"Ah, yes. T-Thank you." The young man bows, smiling a strained smile.

Then, he goes on his way, stumbling like a newborn foal and looking around in awe and fear. Loksni shakes his head.

He should have given the young man a free dose of _hygesorh_. It is the least he could do for the community.

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 **A/N:** Hope the potions names are self-explanatory. You can PM me for any clarifications ^_^

Have a stress-free day!

~ Vividpast


	2. Did you rub my lamp?

**Warning/s:** Brief gruesome imagery

 **Chapter Summary** : "A creature . . . that grants wishes?" Arthur says slowly, looking as incredulous as Merlin feels.

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 **Chapter I: Did you rub my lamp?**

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When the village woman comes to seek an audience with the king about a magical creature, Merlin does not expect it to be anything but disastrous.

Looking back on it, he is right in a way.

"A creature . . . that grants wishes?" Arthur says slowly, looking as incredulous as Merlin feels. They exchange meaningful glances.

 _'Well?'_ the king's rapid blink asks.

Merlin's brows furrow. _'I've never heard of such a creature before.'_

Arthur rolls his eyes. _'Of course you haven't. Why am I asking an idiot like you?'_

Merlin scowls.

Both turn their attention back to the village woman.

"Yes." There are bags underneath the woman's eyes, lips dry and face wrinkled. She hesitates before saying, "We – We were joyful, at first, Sire. The Djinn, for that is what he calls himself, seemed like a blessing from the gods. We asked for a bountiful harvest and the next day, the fields were painted gold with fully grown wheats. The leader's son fell ill and we wished for him to heal, and he did. Someone took advantage of the miller's daughter and we sought justice. The Djinn gave us the culprit."

"But?" Arthur cuts in. "I see why you would have thought this . . . Djinn has good intentions. But you must never trust anything that uses magic."

Merlin, through the years of practice, successfully suppresses a flinch. His eyelids flutter close for one painful moment. He wishes he can truthfully say that he's used to it. Every accusation, every proclamation of the evilness of magic, especially coming from Arthur, is like a dagger between his ribs.

"F-Forgive us, Y-Your Highness –" The woman starts paling.

Arthur makes a gesture and the woman falls silent. "I will not fault you or your village for being fooled. You only thought what was best for the town," the king says, a hint of pity in his tone. "What has he done that clued you to his malignant intentions?" Arthur asks.

The woman wrings her hands. "People have gone missing, Sire. People who have last been seen talking to the Djinn."

"How many?" The king's expression darkens.

"Eleven, Sire. Five are merely teenagers." The woman barely contains a sob. "One of them is my boy."

Merlin's chest aches, sympathetic to the mother's plight. He wonders how anyone, sorcerer or no, could do anything that would put such grief on a person's face. Do they like the torment they see upon their features? Do they feel better after such acts?

The warlock hopes he will never find out.

Arthur looks thoughtful for several seconds. His eyes roam the throne room, straying to the murmuring noblemen and councilors. The village woman stands nervously in the middle of them all.

"We should go and help them, Sire," a councilor, a gray-haired oily old man, suggests. "If this is truly a magical threat, then we should dispose of the creature immediately."

The others declare their assent.

"Or maybe we should imprison this Djinn, interrogate him," another voices out.

Arthur's eyes narrow. _Uh-oh. That doesn't look good_ , Merlin thinks.

"Hmm, yes, yes. I believe that would be better! He – He might be hiding some other magic friends of his."

"There are cuffs in the vaults that can bind a sorcerer's magic."

Merlin pales. Cuffs that bind magic? In the vaults? This is the first he has heard of such. He fights off a shudder. If Arthur finds out, if he is captured, put to trial . . .

"Silence," Arthur calls firmly. The noblemen cease their babbling and Merlin breaks out of his morbid musings.

The king has come to a decision, Merlin belatedly realizes. The servant sees it in the set of his shoulders and purse of his lips.

Arthur adopts an apologetic look as he addresses the village woman once more. "Milda, I am truly sorry but I cannot spare my knights for this."

The woman stares in shock and despair. "S-Sire."

Merlin's eyes widen in disbelief. What is Arthur thinking? It isn't like him at all to refuse to provide help, especially to one in desperate need of it! The king, this same king, had followed Merlin to Ealdor to defend a town that isn't even his. This is the same man who had helped a druid child escape from his father's clutches even though it went against his very belief. This is the man who went on a quest to save a mere servant's life!

How – Why? Merlin wants to shake Arthur until he makes sense again.

Shouts of protests start from the councilors, demanding that Arthur explains himself.

Arthur stares coolly at them until they get the hint and stay silent. Then, the king complies. "A creature that can grant any wish is unheard of. Even our Court Physician who is an expert on such things cannot confirm it."

All turn to Gaius at that. The old man shoot Arthur a discrete questioning look (which Merlin catches and causes him to even be more puzzled) before clearing his throat. "Yes, I've never read of a Djinn or anything that can grant wishes in any of my books."

The councilors frown and whisper. "Are you sure, Gaius?"

The physician nods sagely. "Quite sure, I'm afraid. No such thing could exist."

The murmurs ascends. The features of some of the councilors twist in rage as they turn to the village woman.

"You are a liar, then," he accuses.

The woman blanches. "N-No, please, S-Sire, you have to believe me." Tears run down her cheeks, sorrow painting her posture.

Arthur merely shakes his head. "I'm sorry." Then, he stands up, straightening his jacket and tunic. "I believe that is all the time that we have for today. Court dismissed!"

Merlin finds himself angry at the nonchalance of his tone. Why is Arthur acting like this? The poor woman, having traveled all the way to the castle, is breaking down and he acts like he could care less! Has he been enchanted? A candle lights up in Merlin's mind and with his epiphany, everything makes sense. Arthur's been enchanted (again). Merlin sighs inwardly. And as always, it is the servant who has to lift the spell.

However, as the noblemen are filing out and the village woman is on her knees, Arthur pulls Merlin to the side.

"Accompany Milda to my chambers," Arthur whispers, gloved hand on Merlin's nape. 'Take the servant routes and make sure no one sees you two."

"What? Why?" Merlin's exclamation is almost a shout and Arthur glares.

The kings cuffs him on the neck and Merlin grimaces. "Just do what I say, clotpole. Tell her I will hear her out there."

"But you've already heard her out," Merlin says, trying to make sense of Arthur's plans. "And you refused her!"

Arthur looks up, asking the gods for patience. "I swear, Merlin, if you don't stop questioning me, you'll be in dog-walking duty again."

Merlin squeaks. "Please don't."

"Then get to it!" The servant blinks slowly at the king. "Now! Preferably before she leaves and render all of this act useless," Arthur remarks so dryly that the desert seems moist.

"Right." Merlin scurries away and towards the woman sobbing in the middle of the room.

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"A-Are you sure?" Milda asks, voice hoarse from crying. She dabs the hanky Merlin lent her upon her puffy eyes. "He just – He said . . ."

Merlin smiles, grasping her elbow and leading her to a narrow hallway. "I'm sure, Milda. The king actually wants to hear you out. But he can't agree in front of his advisors."

The poor woman looks confused. "But why?"

That's Merlin's question too. However, thinking carefully about it, he now has some idea to why Arthur acted the way he did. Arthur wouldn't be so callous, Merlin knows. Whatever plan he has, it'll help Milda one way or another. "He'll explain later," the servant assures. "He acts like a prat at times but he's not cruel." And Merlin should have deduced Arthur's facade earlier.

Merlin glances left and right before they turn a corner, making sure no one else is in sight. They are nearing their destination.

Scandalized, Milda whispers, "Y-You just called the king –"

"A prat?" The servant grins. He turns and mockingly salutes the guard in front of the king's chambers. The guard shakes his head, smiling, and goes to unlock the door.

"Worse insults have come out of this idiot's mouth," Arthur remarks with a smirk, strutting towards them, cloak flaring dramatically behind him.

The guard stands to attention like a good little citizen. Milda yelps in surprise, eyes widening as they met the king's. She remembers herself and lowers her eyes and head. Merlin cocks an unimpressed brow, meeting Arthur's gaze head-on. Milda thinks with horror that the boy is going to get hanged for his insolence but Arthur merely rolls his eyes and gestures at his room.

"Get in, then."

The three of them enter. Merlin bolts the door and leads Milda to one of the dining chairs. Arthur removes his crown and cloak, putting them down on the first nearest place; really, Arthur could have at least put them on the table! But no, they go on top of a cabinet instead.

Merlin takes a seat beside Milda, giving her a comforting smile. The king sits on the chair across Milda's, pulling out his gloves. "I apologize for my earlier callousness, Milda, but it was necessary," he explains, looking properly apologetic.

Milda tries to hide her astonishment at a _king_ apologizing to her. "I – I'm sure you have your reasons, Your Highness."

Arthur nods, determined. "I do. You see, I believe you, I believe that this creature exists. But it would be folly to spread this information about."

A realization dawns on Merlin. "Someone who could grant any wish . . . If the wrong person finds out, they could take advantage." Not all wishes are for the good of the many. Merlin knows that first hand from Morgana, from Edwin, from Cornelius Sigan and from every other sorcerer that came to destroy Camelot.

"The walls have ears and news flies fast," Arthur steeples his fingers together, expression grim. Merlin thinks back to the advisors changing their minds about defeating the Djinn. Rather, they had wanted to imprison and _interrogate_ it.

Milda seems to be getting the hint. Dismay creeps in the lines of her face. "I d-didn't think, Sire. I should have known."

Arthur waves away the implied apology. "I will take my most trusted knights with me and hunt for this creature myself."

The village woman's relief shines in the unshed tears in her eyes. "You'll help us? O-Oh, thank you, Sire! Thank you!"

Arthur smiles. "I will do whatever I can to give your people justice and protect them from this creature." Merlin notices how Arthur does not vow to find the missing people alive. They both know it is a promise he cannot keep.

"Tell us more about what we're going to be dealing with," Merlin prompts and settles in for the long haul.

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Before preparing for the journey ahead, Merlin goes to the physician's chambers. If there is anyone else with more information, it will be Gaius. And Merlin will like to be as informed as possible.

"A Djinn or a genie grants wishes," Gaius says, face solemn as he hands Merlin an open book. "There are surprisingly few accounts about it but the one thing they have in common is this: when a Djinn passes by, death and catastrophe follows."

Merlin sighs. He doesn't want to trivialize it, he really doesn't. The creatures he battled with in the past, however, went along the same lines. Death and catastrophe, famine and war, plague and darkness . . . Why can't it be rainbows and sweet pastries?

Merlin shakes the thought of food away from his mind because he's starting to get hungry. He skims the brief passage about Djinn. There is no portrait of the creature but Milda has given them a detailed description so Merlin will know the Djinn when it shows. "How do we deal with it? Not necessarily kill but maybe imprison?"

"It's already imprisoned," Gaius informs him, pointing at the part of the text where it is mentioned.

Merlin blinks. "What?"

The warlock then finds out the Djinn lives in a lamp – an oil lamp, no less. Can it turn itself into the size of rats that it can live somewhere as small as a lamp? Did someone _wish_ it to live in an oil lamp? Merlin dares not to ask these questions lest he be given that 'I am judging you but I'm too wise and old to voice it out' eyebrow look by Gaius.

"Milda didn't mention any lamps. She described the Djinn as an actual person, with a normal-sized body and all that. Can it get out of the lamp then?"

Gaius frowns, contemplating. "Maybe it has hidden its home then. The text says the Djinn cannot wander far from its lamp. Wherever the lamp goes, the Djinn follows."

"So . . ." A plan forms in Merlin's mind. "We find the lamp, we contain the Djinn and it doesn't hurt anyone else?"

"I suppose that would work." Gaius gives him an approving glance. "Just keep the lamp in a safe cold place. The Djinn is summoned when the lamp is rubbed and given warmth –"

"Rubbed? What?" Merlin boggles.

Gaius speaks over him. "Prevent that from happening and the Djinn would be contained inside its lamp."

"Sounds . . . suspiciously simple." As it always is at the start.

Gaius gives him a look. "Pray that it stays that way, my boy."

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All morning, Merlin packs the king's clothes, equipment, and food. Said food being plenty enough to feed seven people on a two-day trip. Merlin's arms are numbed from carrying all of them and of course, Arthur insists that Merlin has to do all the tasks all by himself. They cannot risk the other servants knowing the true purpose of their expedition. They cannot let the servants gossip. For all intents and purposes, the king is going on his monthly hunt, bringing his knights as protection and Merlin as the slave who does all the menial (but important) stuff.

But of course, Merlin cheats. And no, he does not use magic. By cheating, he means that he recruits Gwen. Gwen is all too happy to help, even though, technically, she is no longer a servant. Her brother is a knight and the king clearly favors her, maybe even planning to court her. Although, now that Merlin thinks about it, he rarely sees Arthur and Gwen together in the past weeks . . .

Still, that does not prevent Merlin from complaining at Arthur's back and to his face. Quite loudly and every hour. Arthur grins gleefully at the start but eventually, the insults and complaints start to grate on his ears. He cuffs Merlin over the head five times in the span of a day.

Milda had already went ahead to her village, hopeful of the king's help. She had sobbed in respite, taking both Arthur and Merlin in a tight embrace before she left. Arthur had awkwardly patted her back and Merlin had smoothly reciprocated her hug.

At last, after several hours, they are ready to follow her.

Lancelot expertly saddles his horse, tying the straps securely around the steed's belly. Merlin sidles beside him and helps.

"Do you think we could defeat it, this wish-granting being?" the knight asks, voice low and focus still on the saddle. "If it can grant _any_ wish, even one with the involvement of life and death, then it is extremely powerful. Maybe even more powerful than you."

"From Milda's stories, I say this Djinn isn't malicious at all," Merlin whispers, finally being able to confide to someone. "It has done nothing but _grant_ wishes. Milda says it doesn't seem to perform any magic unless it's for the fulfillment of a wish."

Milda did not speak of the Djinn's personality at all, no matter how Merlin probed, only of its deeds. The Djinn had no will of its own, only a slave to any wishers. Unless the wisher asks a question, it speaks only a few words: "What is it that you desire?" and "Your wish is my command." These are said as if a script in a play.

Lancelot's brows furrow in thought. "You think the Djinn is just an instrument? That someone wants these people gone?"

Merlin nods, finishing the straps with a flourish. "Yes." He turns to Lancelot. "I'm planning to talk to some of the villagers. If we can find out what or who these missing people have in common, then maybe we can find the culprit." Now, if only he could say this to Arthur in a way that doesn't sound like he's defending magic . . .

"And what of the Djinn?"

Merlin grimaces. "It's still too dangerous to let it walk about. We'll probably need to lock it up in the vaults." For Merlin, no fault lies with the Djinn. It's just doing what its nature is telling it to do, Merlin thinks, since it lacks the will to think for itself. The warlock does not want any bloodshed in this one, especially since it appears to be unnecessary.

Of course, if the Djinn becomes a threat to Arthur and the knights, Merlin did not hesitate before and he will not hesitate now. The warlock will do what needs to be done.

Lancelot, reading his thoughts, claps him on the back. "You're a good man, Merlin," he praises with wonder, looking at Merlin with fondness.

Merlin turns around to hide the pleased blush spreading to his cheeks. It isn't the first time Lancelot has said it and Merlin doubts it will be the last. The knight is the kind of man who sees good in any person and any situation. Still, Merlin could not help but be delighted and a bit ashamed. Part of him knows he does not deserve such compliment.

"I'm glad you think so, my Lord," he replies cheekily.

Lancelot chuckles and Merlin approaches Gwaine to help load the supplies on a mare.

Gwain grunts, lifting the heavy equipment from the ground and placing it on the horse's back. Merlin wraps a rope around bags, tightens it, and starts tying.

"So . . . a wish-granting sorcerer," Gwaine starts, grinning. "Think I could wish for an endless supply of ale before we defeat them?"

Merlin snorts. "You'll be drunk all the time and Arthur will probably strip your knighthood before winter starts."

"Ye of so little faith," Gwaine tuts. He checks the daggers on their sheaths, making sure they easily slide out in case of emergencies. "I think I can discipline myself, mate."

"Can you now?" Merlin is amused and shows it. He tightens the knots and ensures no bags are loose. "And tell me, how many times has Arthur forbidden you from going into the tavern?"

Gwaine frowns. He remembers the _unfair_ prohibitions and just because he came to training drunk _once_. Arthur never lets up. Well, in the queeness' defense, Gwaine had been so utterly intoxicated he nearly maimed poor Perceival. "Seven times," he answers.

"And how many of those did you follow instead of discretely sneaking inside The Rising Sun in disguise?" Merlin gives him a teasing smile because they both know the answer.

Gwaine stills. Then, he says, "I believe you have a point, Merlin."

"If you _girls_ are done chatting." Arthur's sarcastic drawl filters in their conversation. "Then, I believe we have a village to save and a sorcerer to catch."

"Don't we always?" Elyan mutters. Leon stifles a smile but Perceival has no such compunction.

"Haha." Arthur elegantly mounts his own professionally-tamed steed. "I'm sure if we peacefully talk to these evil magic-users, they'll respectfully cease their schemes so we could rest for a few weeks."

Merlin expertly ignores the sliver of pain that stabs his chest. Lancelot subtly shoots him a worried look and Merlin shakes his head in response. Instead of focusing on the king's words, the warlock deftly plucks an apple from their supplies. He has forgotten to eat breakfast and if Arthur plans to scold him for eating too early in their journey, he could do so in front of Merlin's apple-filled cheeks.

Arthur says nothing, however, just stares at Merlin with wide eyes like he could not believe such an insolent thing existed. Merlin grins then continues to chew as obnoxiously as he can.

"Oi, oi, mate. Stop making love to the apple. It's awkward for all of us," Gwaine pipes up.

Arthur throws his head back and laughs like a loon. The knights are not far behind. Merlin glares at Gwaine who gives him an unrepentant grin. It's probably revenge for the servant's teasing earlier.

Later, Merlin would finish the apple and throw the core at Gwaine who deserves no less. It would hit the knight right between the eyes and would startle another bout of laughter from their companions.

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In the end, they do not reach the village. They find the lamp a three-hour's ride away from it.

Well, they find Djinn. Or, more specifically, the Djinn finds them.

"What is it that you desire?" a monotonous voice says, echoing in the darkness of the night.

The reaction is instantaneous. Arthur and the knights pick up their weapons, the earlier cheer from the campfire vanishing without a trace. Merlin gets to his feet at the same time as the knights, readying his magic.

"Djinn," Arthur calls, sword pointed at the creature.

The Djinn is exactly how Milda described it.

Its cheeks are still puffed with the fading remnants of baby fat, looking no older than seventeen summers. Its eyes are bright periwinkle blues, flecks of silver glinting even in the dark. A mop of blue – _blue_ —hair sits atop a round beardless face, tanned skin turning golden in the light of the campfire. The lobes of its ears and the bottom of its lips are adorned with metal rings that pierced skin.

What is perhaps the weirdest are its clothes. A dark blue vest inadequately covers its torso, top and bottom two buttons undone to show off lean muscles and a bandaged chest. Loose white trousers, one that might be more fit for nightwear, hung around its skinny frame. The shoes are made of tanned leather, with the tips curling upwards like the curl of a jester's hat.

The Djinn stares unimpressed at them while they all brandish their swords. "What is it you desire?" it repeats.

"I desire your head on a platter," Arthur challenges, clearly not expecting anything.

"Your wish is my command," the Djinn answers in the same emotionless voice.

They all take a step back in horror when, in the blink of an eye, the Djinn disappears. In its place is a head with blue hair on a shining silver platter. The bottom edges of the head are bleeding red, bits of raw skin and muscle peeking underneath the circle of its neck. The flickering light of the fire emphasizes the sight in a more grisly manner.

The blue eyes look _bored_ of all things. The head opens its mouth and inquires, "What is it you desire?" Blood trickles down its mouth, splattering over and tainting the tray as it speaks.

"It's still alive?" Elyan blurts in shock, looking slightly sick.

"I desire that you return back to your previous form," Lancelot speaks, evidently perturbed to be talking to a detached head. By the lack of protest from the other knights, so are they.

"Your wish is my command."

Another blink and the Djinn's head attaches itself to a body. It stands in the exact same position it did before. The platter is gone and the Djinn appears hale.

Well, if the Djinn does not have a problem fulfilling Arthur's gruesome wish, maybe . . . "Djinn, I wish you to lead us to your lamp," Merlin says before Arthur gets the bright idea of trying to fight the creature.

Merlin has a strong feeling any physical attacks against it would be futile.

Arthur sends Merlin a surprise look. Merlin has told them all about the lamp and how important it is to the Djinn. Perhaps it is one wish the Djinn would refuse to fulfill.

"Your wish is my command." Apparently not as it turns on his heel and start walking, presumably in the direction of its most valuable possession. The servant gives the king a smug look.

Merlin resolutely goes to follow. Arthur grabs his arm before he could go another step.

"It may be leading us to a trap," the king warns.

Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes. Arthur knows that the Djinn could do no such thing without anyone wishing it. "And we have five knights at our disposal." _And a powerful warlock_ , Merlin adds in his head. "I'm sure we can handle anything it throws us."

Arthur glances at his knights, silently asking for their opinion. They talk amongst themselves, quickly forming a plan. Merlin taps a foot on the ground, showing his impatience. He glances at the forest, hoping that the Djinn has not walked far.

It hasn't. It's leaning against a tree, arms crossed. Its eyes are studying its green-painted nails, removing the dirt under them.

"We cannot trust anything magical, Sire." Merlin hears Leon point out. Then, they lower their voices into whispers not even Merlin could hear.

The Djinn rolls its eyes as if Arthur and his knights are the most unreasonable beings it has ever encountered. It murmurs something under its breath, head bobbing mockingly. Merlin's eyes widen, staring at the evident display of emotion. The warlock made a mistake; the Djinn has a will and a personality of a tween to boot.

The Djinn sees Merlin gaping. It instantly straightens, adopting its previous nonchalant expression. But the damage has been done.

"Arthur," Merlin hisses. This knowledge has changed everything.

"Alright." The circle of knights loosens, signaling the end of their discussion. "Elyan and Perceival will stay here to guard our supplies. The rest, with me."

"Wait, Arthur –"

"What now, Merlin?" The king walks decisively towards the Djinn, followed by Gwaine, Leon, and Lancelot. Leon hands a lit torch to Merlin who accepts absentmindedly.

The Djinn starts trudging in the forest once more, movements graceful, feet barely making a dent on the soil.

Merlin jogs to catch up to Arthur. "The Djinn, it's – it has _feelings_." The king glances at him with incredulousness. "I saw! We, we need to be careful –"

" _Now_ , you believe we're going to be ambushed." Arthur adjust his grip on his sword, the corner of his lips tilted up. "Don't worry your little head over it, Merlin. We have a plan. It doesn't matter if the Djinn has . . . _feelings_."

Merlin believes said plan involves charging forward and hoping if they keep thrusting, they'll eventually stab the creature. He is not reassured. Lancelot shoots him a reassuring smile, and Gwaine, a cocky one. Merlin's mind is unchanged.

The warlock decides to keep an eye on things for now. His eyes burn the creature's back. One wrong move from the Djinn . . .

The Djinn has done nothing to earn Merlin's distrust so far. Actually, they still aren't sure if Djinn _is_ responsible for the disappearances. Although, with Merlin's experience with sorcerers in the past few years, he doubts that the Djinn is entirely uninvolved. The only proof they have is that . . . the Djinn uses magic and 'magic is the source of all evil'. Of course, this is one thought Merlin will not voice out for he might be accused of defending magic.

"Do you think it's a woman or a man?" Gwaine's inappropriate question disperses the tension in the air.

"I think you should shut up right now, Sir Gwaine." Arthur glowers. "This is not a time for jokes."

"It's not a joke," Gwaine insists, although he does only with Merlin within earshot.

It is a viable question, seeing as the Djinn's face is properly androgynous and its voice is low enough for a man's and high enough for a woman's. The bindings around its chest could either be hiding assets or just simply something that should go with the attire.

The servant grin despite himself. "Would you flirt with it if it's a woman?"

"Who says I won't even if it's otherwise?" Gwaine asks back, winking.

And _what._ The servant stares wide-eyed at the knight. Why is Merlin just finding out about this? Gwaine is one of his closest friend and he has known the knight for years. The servant opens his mouth to ask, to clarify or confirm, he knows not.

Then, the Djinn stops beside a tall tree with a large trunk. All of them freeze. The knight tighten their grip upon their swords. Merlin's eyes darts around, searching for any kind of threat.

The Djinn lifts its head and points up. Cautiously, the knights follow the direction of its gaze. Merlin keeps his stare fixed on the Djinn.

"That's high up." Leon states, surprised. "How did it even get up there?"

The answer comes from the Djinn, startling them all. They had thought the Djinn would not speak anything else. "A group of crows carried it up," it replies like it cannot care less.

"Are we even sure that's the lamp?" There's a hint of whine in Arthur's tone. Merlin so wants to point it out.

"It is glowing. And I can see the handle and the lip," Lancelot offers the same time the Djinn confirms, "It is."

Gwaine releases an impressed whistle. "Well, lads, who's going to be the one to fetch it?"

Merlin is so busy having a staring contest with the Djinn that he doesn't register the silence for several seconds. When he does, he whips his head around, scared that the knights and Arthur has gotten into trouble without him noticing.

What meets the servant are two apologetic smiles from Leon and Lancelot and two roguish grins from Arthur and Gwaine. It takes Merlin a moment to recall their previous discussion. Since Arthur and the others seems to be watching the Djinn now, he feels safe to look up.

The tree seems to go up miles and miles, branches thick and aplenty. The leaves are unseen in the dark and its top seems to disappear into the night sky. And, almost two stories high, a crow's nest is tucked on one of the branches. In it, Merlin spies a glint of gold, glowing in the moonlight as Lancelot mentioned.

He turns to the Djinn. "I desire that your lamp be here down on the ground."

The Djinn promptly respond, "I cannot grant any wish that involves my lamp."

Of course. Merlin glares at Djinn, wondering if it's lying so it could watch the servant suffer. The Djinn blankly stares back, giving away nothing.

"Well, at least we know it has a limitation," Leon remarks. "It couldn't grant all wishes."

Not that that helps Merlin now. He lets out groan. "Why me?"

"You're the servant," Arthur gleefully points out. "That's kind of why we pay you, Merlin," he mock-whispers.

Lancelot steps forward. "I could –"

Immediately, guilt assaults Merlin. Drat it, Lancelot. "No, no, I'll do it."

"—hold the torch for you," the knight finishes, sheepish.

Merlin quite petulantly hands the torch to Lancelot. He huffs, glancing up again. Then, for safety measure, he wishes, "Djinn, I desire for you to go back into your lamp."

The Djinn does so by _floating_ slowly upwards. When it is the height of the lamp, it blinks out of existence. The knights and Merlin openly gape for several seconds.

"Why'd you do that for?" Arthur demands, sounding irate. "Now we can't keep an eye on it."

Merlin assesses the tree, searching for any kind of handhold. "I didn't want you lot getting into trouble while I'm not here," he replies without missing a beat.

He grabs one of the lowest branches and hauls himself up. He has done this before in Ealdor and he will do it again. Climbing trees is easy, Merlin reassures himself.

He climbs on a higher branch and sits precariously on top of the thickest portion. He leans back too far and starts falling. Flailing his arms in helplessness, he yelps in panic. Arthur and the knights surge forward to try and catch him. Luckily, his floundering leads him into grasping a part of the trunk. He almost hugs the tree in relief. His descent halts and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

"It seems you will be taking the trouble with you, mate," Gwaine says before letting out an exasperated exhale.

The servant sticks his tongue out in reply. Then, Merlin realizes he's an utter _moron_. "Djinn!"

Nothing happens for almost a minute. Arthur and the knights shoots Merlin confusing glances.

Then, the Djinn pops out next to Merlin with a thunderous crack, making everyone jump. Arthur and the knights instinctively raise their weapons. Merlin starts falling _again_ and by the gods, this is going to hurt.

Then, the Djinn's arm shoots out and grabs a fistful of the servant's shirt. Merlin gets pulled none-too-gently back to his balanced sitting position. A flash of amusement flitters over the Djinn's face before a blank mask falls over his expression once more.

"Oh, that's funny, is it?" Merlin's heartbeat still pounds too loudly in his ears. "I could've broken my neck!" Well, his magic will probably save him. But Arthur is right there and his life will be extended for only a few more days.

Arthur rolls his eyes, lowering his sword. "No one's laughing, Merlin." The king glares at the cause of their alarm.

"I wasn't talking to you!" Merlin shouts. He turns to Djinn who sits casually upon the branch, the wood not even creaking with the weight of two person on it. "Um, thanks," Merlin grudgingly says because the Djinn did just save him even though it was the cause of everything.

The Djinn blinks and asks, "What is it you desire?"

"Oh, right. I wish that I'm sitting on the branch where the crow's nest is. Safely, that is," Merlin adds before the Djinn could get any ideas. He speaks loud enough for the others below to hear. It will not do for them to worry.

The Djinn nods. "Your wish is my command."

Merlin finds himself higher up in the tree the next instant. The wind blows cold and hard at this height. He shivers, wrapping his jacket tighter over his form. The Djinn is nowhere to be found and Merlin hopes it just went back inside the lamp. It's hard to protect Arthur when the warlock is two stories above ground.

Merlin looks down and gulps. Arthur and the knights are not really that far away but the light of the lone torch makes it seem like they are. Everywhere else is a pit darkness.

The servant faces forward, deciding to focus on his mission. An arm's length away is the nest, although the lamp is not the only one cradled in its depths. Five featherless chicks and their mother sleep, snuggling against the golden light the lamp is emitting.

Ah. Warmth. They're probably why the Djinn is being continuously summoned.

The oil lamp itself does not look like a normal lamp. Made of gold and encrusted with rubies and sapphires, it certainly looks expensive. Merlin carefully extracts the chicks from it, making sure not to wake them.

The servant runs his fingers over the jewel adornments, feeling hum of magic vibrating beneath his hands. The oil lamp is light and, when Merlin opens the lid, it is empty of anything.

"How does a Djinn live here?" Merlin asks himself, awfully curious. There is _nothing_ inside, not even a speck of dust. "Damn, I really want to know."

He tilts the lamp sideways and upwards. The warlock sees no runes that could be the cause of any spellwork. On the other hand, Merlin knows little of magical runes to recognize them. He will have to consult Gaius.

"Stop dawdling, Merlin!" The servant hears the king shouts. "Come back down!"

Merlin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to give a sarcastic remark. But the ingenuity of his reply will never be discovered because Arthur's bellow has woken the chicks' mother.

And she is not amused at the human who is too close to her nest.

The crow squawks, wings fluttering. The chicks cry in alarm. Merlin turns back to the nest in surprise. He turns back just in time to see an angry beak coming right for his eyes.

Merlin shields his face in time and his arms bear the brunt of the attack. The bird pecks unmercifully at his clothes and any skin she could reach.

"Gah! No, wait, I'm sorry!" Merlin tries to reason with the crow. He wiggles away from his attacker, unmindful of his precarious position. All that matters is getting away.

It does not take long for him to lose his balance for the third time that night.

"Merlin!" The knights scream.

The warlock panics and desperately calls on his magic. Merlin smells lightning in the air, tickling his nose. Before he could utter a spell, however, a hazy feeling settles over him, stealing his thoughts and reason. Blacks spots dances over his vision and everything seems to be getting bigger and farther. His skin feels nothing, not even the air sharply whistling around him, and then, his hearing goes out too.

A saccharine fragrance explodes in the air and that is the last thing he registers before darkness takes him.

"Really? Out of all . . ." A sigh echoes in the void. "Your wish is my command."

Merlin falls but never reaches the ground.

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 **A/N:**

So, what to expect from this story:

This will be very fantastical. Yes, lots of magic and magical realism. This is mainly Merlin-centric.

On the issue of pairing, I've decided to go with Merlin/Arthur BUT this is will be extremely slowburn and you will not see even hints of it in the next several chapters. Nonetheless, this will contain a lot of bromance and will only be slightly slashier than in the show.

Kindly point out any glaring errors. Constructive criticisms are always welcome.

Have an awesome day!

~ Vividpast


	3. Itty Bitty Living Space

**Chapter Summary** : "Any question addressed to me or any question that addresses no one specifically, I'm compelled to answer. The keywords are: 'wish', 'hope', 'desire', 'want', 'need' or any synonymous words. Whatever they follow, I fulfill."

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Chapter II: Itty Bitty Living Space

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The bed beneath Merlin is definitely made of clouds, the warlock thinks with contented sigh. Even the softest hay could not compare. He runs his hands over the fabric of the sheets; they're not quite silk but they are fluffy and soft. He snuggles deeper into the pillows, breathing in its fragrant smell. Gods, the cushions emitted the scent of sweet buns and sugary treats.

Has he fallen asleep on Arthur's bed again? He hopes the prat takes his time in the Council. Merlin's tiredness if Arthur's fault anyway; how could he expect one servant to finish chores that would take two? That Merlin oftentimes uses magic to do them is beside the point.

"I would appreciate it if you stop molesting my bed," a voice tears Merlin out of his musings.

Merlin's eyes fly open in alarm. That isn't Arthur. He thrashes, preparing his magic to protect himself from the intruder because who else would be at the king's chamber? Unfortunately, the covers tangles over one of Merlin's arms and legs, cutting any attempt to get up short. Instead, his body rolls over and right out of said bed. He lands on the carpeted floor, the impact stealing the breath in his lungs.

The voice lets out a shrill boisterous laugh. "Oh my god, dude, are you always this clumsy?"

Merlin roughly untangles the sheets from himself and quickly gets to his feet. The owner of the voice, is, of course, the Djinn. However, gone is its emotionless façade, replaced by untethered amusement at Merlin's ungainliness. Its eyes creases in mirth, perfectly white teeth showing.

The warlock forgets to feel offended in the face of such drastic change. "You _do_ have emotions."

At that, the Djinn immediately sobers up. It straightens, smile fading from its face as it rolls its eyes. "Yes, just like any sentient being."

"But before, you pretended to be . . . to have no will," Merlin points out.

The Djinn scratches its cheek. "I find that people are more unlikely to take advantage if they think I simply don't care."

"Take advantage? Isn't that . . . " Merlin trails off as his gaze strays away from the Djinn and takes in the rest of the room. His jaw drops open. "Where have you brought me?"

The Djinn snorts. "The real question is: where have you brought yourself?" It looks around, a small smile upon its lips. "Welcome to my humble abode." It makes a sweeping gesture at everything.

If there is one thing to describe the place, however, it will not be 'humble'. The walls are made of solid gold, shining to an impossible degree. Various knickknacks fills the spacious room, most of which Merlin fail to recognize or fail to make sense of. An almost flat rectangular article is glued to the wall, looking to be made of black glass. Flags the color of rainbows hangs in the ceiling. A high shelf bursting with books takes up one of the four walls of the chambers. A large bed, which Merlin had previously been lying on, has been painted with designs of stars of the night. The colors are vivid and the designs detailed, if not a little bit weird. Everything else, Merlin couldn't even begin to describe.

Two more doors lead to two more rooms but they're closed so Merlin couldn't begin to know what they contain.

"You live here?" Merlin looks at everything with wonder.

"This is my room," the Djinn says dryly. It sighs then. "I suppose I'll have to give you the grand tour."

Realization hit Merlin like a ton of the castle's bricks. "Are we . . . Am I inside the lamp?" His voice grows a pitch higher at the end. He looks back down on himself. Did he become small? Then, a more urgent thought niggles at him. "What about the others? Arthur, Lancelot, Gwaine and Leon? Where are they?"

"You are inside my lamp as you have wished," the Djinn drawls patronizingly. "Your friends are outside of it. Hence, they are not here. They're still in the forest where we left them."

Oh, good. Those troublemakers are safe. Then, Merlin frowns, catching on something. "But . . . I didn't wish for anything."

"'How does a Djinn live here?'" the Djinn repeats, making a mockery of Merlin's accent. Merlin feels offended. "'Damn, I really want to know.' Were those not your exact words?"

"That – That was considered a wish?"

"Any question addressed to me or any question that addresses no one specifically, I'm compelled to answer," the Djinn replies, lifting its index finger. He raises another digit and starts counting off, "The keywords are: 'wish', 'hope', 'desire', 'want', 'need' or any synonymous words. Whatever they follow, I fulfill."

"But." The warlock frowns, recalling his previous experience and Milda's stories. "You granted every wish almost instantaneously. That one took you minutes."

"Time and space flow differently in here," was the Djinn's answer. "It takes a while for wishes to reach me when I'm inside the lamp. It's sort of like a TARDIS." At Merlin's blank look, the Djinn elaborates, "You know, bigger on the inside, time-whimey thingy."

The elaboration does not help the warlock at all. "Timey-whimey what?"

The Djinn nods. "If there's one thing I don't understand, it's the mechanics of this whole 'imprisoned in a lamp thing'." It waves its hands in an all-encompassing motion. "It would be Victorian era when I go in but when I go back out, it'll be the time of space explorations of new worlds and new civilizations, boldly going where no man has gone before." The Djinn halts. "Wait, I think that one was a tv show."

An ache starts on the spot between Merlin's eyes. What is the Djinn talking about? "I hope you make sense sometime soon," he mutters a bit snappishly.

"Your wish is my command."

And the ache bursts into full-blown agony. Merlin gasps, images flashing before his mind like . . . like a _reel in a movie_. TARDIS, Time and Relative Dimension in Space. A blue phone box housing an alien creature with two hearts. It's bigger on the inside because the space there is in another dimension, another world, another reality. It's fiction, a play, a television show. A television, something that shows moving paintings with bright colors. It's the black rectangular article in the Djinn's room. The Victorian era has colorful gowns swinging about, propriety and inauthenticity ruling over the lives of the elite and peasants. No elbows on the table, eat gently and without a sound, dress as your status dictates. Dukes, lords, barons, servants, pianos, poetry books. Space. Spaceships, captains, first officers, red shirts, aliens, another play and –

New knowledge fills Merlin's head, and so much, _too_ much, he can't –

"Stop!" He cries out, irises burning with tears. "Please stop!" He grips his hair, almost pulling them out of their roots. "I wish it'll stop."

"Oh thank God," a voice muffled by the nonsense in Merlin's head says in relief. "Your wish is my command."

Instantly, the assault ceases. Merlin's knees buckle under him and he drops to the carpeted floor. The images fades away from behind his eyelids and so does much of the knowledge he gained. They don't completely disappear and Merlin knows things people of his _time_ would think insane. Oh gods, Merlin has seen the very distant _future_. Or maybe it's another reality, one so different from his own? Those television shows are certainly fond of such theories . . .

But his wish has been granted. The Djinn's earlier words makes sense to him now; the space inside in the lamp is in a different dimension altogether and the time inside it is not linear, unlike the one outside of it.

The black spots disappears from his vision and Merlin finally has a good look of the room again.

It's, well, quite different from before. The displays have been the toppled, the cabinets broken in halves, clothes strewn everywhere, the television cracked in several pieces and the bed flipped upside down. Merlin looks down on his hands and gulps. While he knows his magic tends to lash out with his emotions, he has never accidentally created a chaos of such caliber.

"Ah . . . a little help?"

Merlin's head snaps up and he remembers that something is missing in the room. Namely, the Djinn itself.

"Where are you?" Merlin gets to his feet, eyes darting around.

"Up, up."

Merlin cranes his head upwards and lets out a surprise gasp. The Djinn is pinned to the ceiling, irritation marring its features. It doesn't seem to be the least bit bothered by the long pole piercing its abdomen.

Merlin lifts his hand and, with a gesture, pulls the pole out. The Djinn grunts but does not otherwise react. The warlock slowly lowers the Djinn to the ground and as soon as both of its feet are settled flatly on the floor, he immediately checks it over.

"You're not bleeding," Merlin blurts in wonder, staring at the hole on the Djinn's middle. He watches as the wound seamlessly closes up and disappears like it never existed.

The Djinn shrugs. "I'm a Djinn," it says as if that is explanation enough. Merlin makes a face. The servant finds a finger poking his chest the next moment. "And _you_. I told you 'hope' is one of my keywords. And what did you do?" The Djinn glances around, clearly upset. "You went ahead and wished and ruined my room!"

Merlin winces. "I'm sorry. I didn't – It's my magic –"

"I know it's your bloody magic!" The Djinn shouts. "Do you even _líhtinge_? Are you one of those who are too proud to do it?"

" _Líhtinge_ – what's that?" Merlin perks up at the magical word.

The Djinn frowns, tirade halting. "It's the regular release of magic, usually in the form of performing harmless tricks."

Merlin blinks. "Why would someone do that?"

"So stuff like _this_." The Djinn gestures empathically at the mess that is its chambers. "Doesn't happen when they're emotionally compromised or sick. How could you not know that?"

Merlin's features alight with comprehension. "That's interesting." The warlock is about to ask more but then remembers he's not exactly talking to a friend.

He backs away from the Djinn, eyes narrowing and arms lifting in preparation to use his magic. The Djinn rolls its eyes like Merlin is being a petulant child.

"What now?"

"In the village not far from here – from your lamp, some people went missing," Merlin says, gauging the other's expression. But to Merlin's consternation, the Djinn turns around. "You talked to them last, didn't you?"

The Djinn observes the rainbow-colored flags on the floor, lips pursed in a thin line. "Probably." It bends down and picks up the colorful cloths with their respective poles.

"What did you do with them?" Merlin demands, the threat in his tone clear.

"What I always do," the Djinn replies casually, rearranging the flag displays on a broken nightstand. "Grant their wishes." The Djinn nods to itself and moves on to clear the scattered clothes on the floor.

"And their wish was to disappear?" Merlin's incredulous tone and raised brow speak of his disbelief.

"Their wish was impossible in this world." The pile of shirts in the Djinn's arms is getting bigger. Merlin couldn't even see the Djinn's face anymore. "So I sent them to another reality where they can have what they want."

This time, Merlin's other brow joins the other in his hairline. "What –" The Djinn stuffs the clothes inside the splintered drawer, not even bothering to fold them. "Oh, for the love – Would you pay attention? I wish your room was fixed and everything was back on its proper place!"

The Djinn blinks at him in surprise. "Your wish is my command."

Merlin blinks and the chambers is back to its previous pristine state. Not an article out of place, not a debris on the floor.

The Djinn twirls around, glancing at everything. It whistles. "Wow, thanks for that."

"Now, will you pay attention?" Merlin sighs. "What do you mean you sent them to another world?"

The Djinn rocks on its heels, face a portrait of innocence. "There are some things that are beyond my power. I can't bend another's will, bring someone back from the dead, or change something that has happened in the past," The Djinn ticks off. "However, I can transport them to a world where, hmm, their crush loves them back, their dad is alive, or they didn't do that one embarrassing thing that labeled them as losers."

Merlin processes that for several seconds. "Like . . . multiverse?" He massages his throbbing temples. He remembers such a concept during his episode earlier.

"Exactly." The Djinn beams. "Parallel universes and such."

"And that's where all those villagers went? In other worlds?"

"Yup," the Djinn replies, popping the 'p'.

"Can I wish them back?" Merlin's mind flashes to Milda's grief-stricken face. She will be more than happy to have her son back.

"Sure." The Djinn shrugs. "Recent wishes override previous ones."

Merlin smiles in relief. This will be solved without bloodshed after all. "I –"

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet shakes and the air warms. Merlin grapples with the bed's headboard for support. The Djinn stays miraculously balanced until the tremors stop.

"Be right back." The Djinn winks. Then, in a more serious tone, it warns, "Don't touch anything."

And it disappears before Merlin could utter a reply.

"What –" Merlin looks around but the Djinn truly has gone.

What in the world is that? It left without a single explanation! Merlin is miffed. He resists the urge to do the opposite of what the Djinn wants and touch each and every paraphernalia in the room.

As if reading his mind, the Djinn appears right in front of him the next moment. Merlin takes an instinctive step back from it, yelping in surprise.

The Djinn looks a little like it has been run over by a wheelbarrow. It stares at Merlin as if the warlock has done the impossible. Merlin instantly notices the major differences on the Djinn's appearance; the ear cuffs and the piercing upon its lower lip are gone, replaced by smooth unblemished skin. Their absence makes the Djinn look vulnerably younger.

"Are you alright?" Merlin cannot help but ask in concern. "What happened?"

"I'm . . . I'm free," The Djinn whispers, voice breaking. When it looks up to Merlin, its eyes are glimmering and a smile threatens break its face in half. "And so are you." It reaches out and taps an index finger upon the warlock's nose.

Merlin sneezes. "What are you –"

A weird sensation grips him, one not unlike falling from a great height. Something pulls at his chest, not unpleasant but not overly comfortable either. His vision fills with blinding white, the Djinn's smile and the Djinn itself fading from sight. Indiscernible voices uttering nonsensical words reverberate around his ears.

" _. . . use_ _Drýcræftéaca . . ."_

 _"Water, fire, air, earth . . ."_

 _". . . father dropped me . . ."_

" _You must protect . . ."_

" _. . . Did you just call me a prat?"_

" _. . . library is forbidden . . ."_

" _Concentrate, boy! Magic is not . . ."_

" _How did you . . . It takes a lot of training to . . ."_

" _Come on! Join us! I mean, we want to kill the Pendragons but . . ."_

" _You resemble your mentor greatly. One would mistake . . ."_

" _You think I will not smell a traitor right under . . ."_

" _. . . scry for the cause . . ."_

" _It wasn't me! I didn't – I would never . . ."_

" _If you want to save your king, then, you'll bloody . . ."_

" _Stay. Please."_

He gasps but the sound he makes gets lost in the void. His hands – where are his hands, his feet, his whole body? He could not feel them.

" _I want him to be safe."_

When Merlin comes to, he finds himself standing in the middle of the forest, the sun high up in the sky. He groggily gazes around, eyes squinted against the sudden bright environment.

There are no Djinns or knights in sight.

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 **A/N:**

This was supposed to contain a grand tour of the Djinn's house and some Merlin/Djinn bonding moments. But rereading that, I realized it's not really necessary so I removed those parts and shortened it to this ^_^.

Kindly point out any glaring errors. Constructive criticisms are always welcome.

Have an awesome day!

~ Vividpast


	4. A Whole New World

**Chapter Summary:** Merlin tries to make sense of everything.

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Chapter III: A Whole New World

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The air in his lungs vanishes as if sucked out by an oncoming storm. His heart lets out a throbbing and loud beat, and something in his ears pops. The smell of lightning and burning wood sting his nose. Before he could react to any of these sensations, a wave of agony assaults his temples like a thousand needles stabbing his skull. He ceases walking.

"W-What?" His normally aloof composure cracks, and he holds his head in pain. The hood of his cloak, thankfully, does not fall. His covered face has always been his first worry.

"Wracu?" A concerned voice waddles through the noise in his ears, a hand grasping his shoulder. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I-I-I d-don't." The amount of times Wracu stuttered in his life, he could count with one hand. The fact that he does now denotes a situation that is likely life and death.

His companion knows this and panics appropriately. "Wracu? What's happening?" Smooth slim fingers caress his face, unnatural warmth emanating from the points of contact. "Speak to me, child."

The ache in Wracu's head intensifies instead of diminishing, which, he knows, was not her intention. Nevertheless, it is the result.

He wrenches himself out of her grasp, gasping. "Do you not feel it?" Wracu spits out, irritated that she doesn't understand. For a moment, he fears the consequences of using that kind of tone when talking to her. But the throbbing in his head takes any fright away.

"What is it? What are you sensing?"

Power.

Magic so concentrated in a very small vessel.

An abomination that never should have come into existence.

Wracu can almost taste the coy sweetness quality to the undiluted power, forbidden and seducing.

Wracu has always been in tuned with the Old Religion, sensitive to any changes that might tip the already delicate balance in their environment. Sometimes, he even hears soft whispers of the ancients, persuading, tempting, pleading. He has always seen it as a gift. Now, suffering through the enormous pain of the Old Religion crying out, he isn't so sure.

Indeed, what is it? A magical artifact that an arrogant sorcerer seek to create and control? A _drýlic_ creature that has just been born into the world?

 _Merlin,_ cries helpless and distant voices.

Wracu straightens abruptly from the crouch he had not realized he was in. The agony in his skull recedes abruptly, and relief blossoms in his chest even though he is utterly confused.

 _Merlin,_ echoes once again. Wracu does not have the pain to distract him this time. He stills, mouth parting.

 _Merlin_ , the voices insists, desperate. _Emrys._

"Wracu!" He is shaken, both literally and figuratively, out of his trance. Nails dig into the flesh of his arms, and he fights off a wince.

"I'm sorry, Mother, for worrying you," he says calmly. He slowly gathers his composure, putting up the cold persona he usually adopts.

"Was that an attack? Did someone try to hex you?" A cold hand cups his jaw and Wracu leans into the touch.

"No, nothing of the sort," he reassures.

He thinks for a moment, trying to make sense of the happenings in the past few minutes.

He does not know what kind of monster has caused the Old Religion to cry for help, from Wracu, no less. He will have to scry to find out more. But there is one thing he is sure of, one thing he knows his companion will be pleased to hear.

He allows his lips to curl into a smirk. "I believe I have found something that can be of use to us."

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"Arthur! You supercilious prat!"

Merlin has been wandering the forest for _hours_. He calls for the knights and for Arthur. No one answers, of course, else he will not be in the forest anymore.

This forest, the forest the Djinn has sent him to, feels . . . odd. If asked, Merlin cannot pinpoint exactly _why_. The trees seem more . . . alive? Their leaves are a more vibrant green, their branches a deeper brown than Merlin is used to. The air is lighter too; Merlin feels like he has been inhaling smoke all his life, and is finally tasting unpolluted air. The soil, the plants, the clouds, the sky . . . everything is teeming with unadulterated life, and Merlin feels the energy sinking in his very bones. Everything seems more . . . just more. Have forests always been like this and Merlin is just always too busy (saving Arthur's arse) to appreciate it? He is wary but also strangely reluctant to leave it.

He sighs, dispelling the wandering thoughts. His throat is dry beyond belief and he has not the energy to call out one more time. Scrubbing his face, he lets out another tired sigh. Through the gaps of his fingers, he observes the endless trees once more, not really hoping to find anything familiar. After all, after that all debacle about being inside the lamp and the Djinn tapping his nose, it is clear that the sassy magical creature has transported the warlock somewhere very far away.

Except . . . Merlin straightens and whips around. The copse he is in does look familiar. It is one Arthur and he traverse in their usual hunting trips. Merlin remembers because _that_ particular protruding root always trips him up. He is sure that pine tree is actually out to get him. How can he trip on the same blasted spot every time? There must be some curse or sorcery involved. (He confides this to Gaius one time and never again because of the absolutely quelling look he received in return)

And if Merlin isn't mistaken . . . The servant runs west, growing increasingly giddy as his surroundings become more and more familiar.

At last, he reaches the dirt path that will lead straight to Camelot's gates.

He barely contains a whoop of joy. That Djinn has transported him near Camelot! Though he doesn't know why, he figures some deity up there must love him.

Without another thought, Merlin sets out for Camelot. Arthur and the knights are probably near Milda's village, panicking because of his sudden disappearance. Merlin will never be able to track them down and reach them on foot. He needs supplies and a horse. Maybe he'll even take a few knights.

On second thought, maybe they are on their way back to Camelot. Or maybe they are already in Camelot. It had been early evening when they discovered the Djinn. Merlin glances up and calculates; it's nearing midday. The Djinn did say time works differently inside the lamp, and what might seem like minutes for Merlin might be hours outside the lamp. Merlin hopes he is gone for only a day or two. Arthur will throw a fit if he disappears for more than that. He might send out search parties _again_ to look for a mere servant. Merlin is not ungrateful, truly, but he finds it mortifying to be the cause of such a large fuss.

He walks silently and alone for half-an-hour, tripping on the small rocks once in awhile. He should reach Camelot in two hours if all goes well, and no trouble finds him. Hopefully, Arthur and the knights are waiting there and not killed off by the Djinn or some other magical creature.

His ears pick up horse hooves, the crunch of gravel, and the creaking of a turning wheel. He spins around, alarmed, and promptly gapes.

Passing him is perhaps the most lavish and ridiculous carriage he has ever seen. It looks remarkably like a large pumpkin, bright orange and rounded. Golden ribbons wrap around like vines in its circumference, lazy spiral designs adorning the door. Instead of wooden wheels, bronze tires gleam in the sunlight. The coachman, dressed in an equally extravagant and ostentatious attire, respectfully tips his hat to Merlin as he passes. The servant hurriedly bows in response and acknowledgement. He steps aside so he wouldn't be run over by the carriage.

Then, the door to the carriage opens without a creak, and a grinning girl, a few years younger than Merlin, pops out.

"Hey, peasant!" is the last thing the servant hears before he is pelted in the face by something wet and muddy.

Startled at the unexpected happenstance, Merlin jumps backwards. He, of course, loses his balance and finds himself on the hard cold ground.

Laughter echoes in his ears and Merlin looks up.

"Good one, Clar!" a boy's voice praises.

The girl titters. "What can you expect?" To Merlin, she sneers, "Don't taint the road with your poor presence, scum."

The door closes with an ungodly slam, and before Merlin knows it, the carriage is gone from sight.

What the hell? Merlin sits on the ground, shocked. Did that really happen? Did a couple of snobbish nobles just humiliated and degraded him?

He burns with anger and embarrassment. Those spoiled entitled brats! Oh, Arthur's going to hear about this! One of the things the king of Camelot can't stand is arrogant tweens who need to be knocked down a peg. (Merlin had once teased that it was because Arthur can't stand to be reminded of his previously brattish self. He got sent to the stocks after that.)

His eyes burn gold without him meaning to. A few feet away, a tree inexplicably explodes with a loud screech, shooting splinters everywhere. Merlin barely gets to safety, barely avoids the large chunks of wood headed his way.

He stares at the ragged stump, the only remains of the large oak tree that shattered because of his anger. He gulps. He doesn't know why his magic is out of control lately. But he must tighten his restraint over it if he wants his head between his shoulders. He curls his palms into a fist and takes a very deep breathe. Right. Restraint. Control.

He wipes away the substance on his face. His hands come away coated with sticky green mixture. He shudders, utterly repulsed. What the hell is this? It smells like rotten eggs and feels abnormally hot on his skin. He goes over the potions and mixtures he knows. None of them matches.

Ugh. He better wash it off just in case.

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Detouring to a stream does not delay Merlin as much as he thought. By late afternoon, he arrives at the entrance of the kingdom of Camelot. He sighs in relief as the drawbridge comes to view. Hmm, when did Arthur get new guards for the gate? Merlin does not recognize the men on the battlements nor the ones stationed at the entrance. Actually, the drawbridge is different too. There are no chains on its either sides; there is no way to lift the wooden plank should the enemies come knocking on their door. The metal grate over the arch is in place though, ready to slam down and trap any fugitives. It is a small comfort.

An ominous feeling settles over Merlin, dread pooling in his stomach. There's something very wrong here, his instincts scream at him. And because said instincts have saved him and Arthur from power-hungry sorcerers throughout the years, he opts to listen to them. He carefully backs away from the drawbridge, eyes narrowed.

People passes him by, unhesitatingly entering the city with either their wares and luggage. Some send him curious looks. They do not seem bothered by the same things he is. Which might be reasonable since Merlin recognizes _none_ of them. He has been living in Camelot for seven summers now; while he personally does not know many townspeople, he does know a lot of them by face.

Why are there an influx of newcomers? Why are the guards new? What happen to the drawbridge? What in the name of Camelot is going on?

A notion crosses Merlin's mind, one that makes him lightheaded. What if . . . What if he has been gone not mere hours or days but months, years, _decades_?

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Tirol of the village of Ludviche, guard stationed on the left side of the entrance, leaves his post. He casually approaches the other armed guard, keeping his face nonchalant.

"Bart, do you see him? Young man with a neckerchief?" he murmurs, eyes not on Bart of the village of Arendelle but on the merchants entering Camelot.

"Aye." Bart rubs his beard, eyes pointedly on the said young man. "Been standing there for a while, isn't he?"

Tirol elbows him and harshly whispers that he be a bit more subtle. Bart huffs but complies. He takes to observing the big spears bestowed upon them when they were assigned as guards. The spears are just for show, really. Apparently, people feel a lot more safer if the guards carry more obvious and more bigger weapons, never mind the practicality of it.

"He looks lost," Bart offers.

"He looks like he's scheming," Tirol counters, ever the pessimist.

Bart snorts but does not exactly disagree. The young man is staring at battlements and entrance with an intense expression, like he is planning how to make a run for it. While it appears his physical prowess is not something to write home about, his magical one might be a different story entirely. Bart pulls out an amber-colored _scinncræfte_ crystal, one as big as an eyeball.

A small _scinncræfte_ crystal is given to any senior guard, a guard who has been working in service for more than fifteen summers. Tirol is only in his fifth summer so it is up to Bart to check. While _scinncræfte_ crystals are more accurate when in contact with the sorcerer or mage, there are some non-obsidian ones which are perfect for long distance measuring.

Bart pins the crystal between his index finger and thumb. He aligns it over his right eye and through its translucency, casts a gaze at the young man - who has not moved an inch. The crystal glows faintly, barely changing color.

"Just enough magical ability to light a candle," Bart remarks, pocketing the crystal once more.

Tirol hums. "He can still cause mischief."

"If that is your reasoning, then we should be arresting every citizen of Camelot," Bart replies with fond exasperation. He then lifts his chin, and shouts, "You! Boy with the red neckerchief!"

The young man bristles, turning to Bart with wide alarmed eyes. Everything about him screams of tension. From a far, Bart does not know if the man plans to fight or run.

"Come here, boy!" Bart beckons him closer. Fight or flight, at least something would finally happen. Bart's becoming bored,

The young man hesitates, glancing at the drawbridge as if it would come to life and whack him in the head. A split second later, he steels himself and pads on the wood. He approaches the guards and gates with obvious trepidation.

"What are you doing?" Tirol hisses.

Bart shrugs. "Maybe he just needs help." For one so young, Tirol is awfully wary of strangers.

"G-Good afternoon, Sires," the young man greets with a small bow.

Oh, how polite. "Good afternoon! What's your name then?"

"M-Merlin."

"Well, Merlin." Tirol does not hide the suspicion in his voice. "What businesses have you in Camelot? You are not a merchant." The guard looks pointedly at his garment.

"Er, no. I'm a servant . . . In the castle, that is." The young man stares at them, watching for their reactions.

Bart reacts by cocking a brow. Tirol's eyes narrow as he asks, "Where's your castle talisman then?"

"My . . . castle talisman?"

"The castle's shielded. You need a talisman to enter it," Tirol replies curtly. "Where's yours?"

"Shielded?" The young man's voice rises in incredulity. "I-I don't - I don't understand - what?"

Bart frowns. That the castle of Camelot is protected is common knowledge to anyone in the city. This young man claims he works in the citadel, and yet he shows surprise at the fact. He exchanges a meaningful glance with Tirol, who is starting to get restless.

"Are you new in the city, Merlin?" Bart asks. "I've never seen you around before."

"Are _you_ new?" The young man blurts out.

Bart's brow rises to his hairline. "I've been a guard here for seventeen summers now."

Something akin to despair flashes in the young man's features. "But I've never seen you before," he whispers, and Bart does not think he meant for them to hear it.

Judging by Tirol's expression, the other guard is gearing for a full-on interrogation.

"Tirol, Bart!" a call comes from above. Both guards look up at the battlements where their supervisor is leaning down. "A message just came in. The Mercia kids are half-an-hour away."

Tirol mutters a curse and Bart grimaces. Aye, the prince and princess of Mercia. The incarnations of the Devil himself.

They are actually supposed to arrive early that morning. But because it's them, they probably got delayed for pranking the various travellers they come across with. The guards did not question their tardiness and are secretly glad for it. And now, it seems their luck has run its course.

Their supervisor matches their enthusiasm. "They want the usual welcome." The usual welcome being: having guards as their footstool, to wash their hideous carriage, to ride those untamed things they called horses as entertainments, and other inhumane things. The guards assigned to them previously describe it as torture they would not wish upon anyone.

Commiserating their bad luck, they fail to notice the young man with the neckerchief slipping away into the gates of Camelot.

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The dread in Merlin is now a heavy stone in his stomach. His heart is probably in the vicinity of his boots. Seventeen summers? Merlin has never encountered that guard before! He takes note of any changes in the guards' guild (one of them might be an assassin or someone equally troublesome). What's more, they don't recognize him or his name. Being a king's servant has earned him a bit of fame among the townspeople (There are ridiculous rumors about him and Arthur too but thankfully, Merlin remains blissfully ignorant). Those guards should have at least an inkling of who he is when he introduced himself. He swallows the lump in his throat.

So, it might be true then. Merlin might not be missing for mere days but decades. Where's Arthur now? Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, Leon, and Perceival? Gwen? Are they still alive or have they been killed by some tragedy Merlin could have prevented?

A stall catches Merlin's eye, dragging him out of his miserable thoughts. There is tall man manning it, arranging the colorful phials displayed on his table. The bright colors in the liquids inside the bottles and jars draws attention enough. But the cauldron bubbling on one corner is what Merlin focuses on.

Out of context, the merchant appears to be brewing something magical, what with the mixture turning different shades every few seconds. Furthermore, the fire underneath the cauldron is _green_. It is something that will definitely catch the sorcery-hating eyes of the populace. Merlin hurriedly approaches the stall, wanting to warn the merchant about the dangerous image he is displaying.

He doesn't expect to see magic being boldly performed in public.

When he observes the marketplace for the first time, he doesn't expect the sight of magic being used in every day chores or activities.

He doesn't expect to be scolded when he implied that magic is forbidden in Camelot.

He doesn't expect the name of Arthur's mother to be uttered when asked about the current year.

He certainly doesn't expect to find that Arthur Pendragon is a _prince_ once more.

He walks away from the _potion_ store, dazed, befuddled, and no little bit scared. He takes in the little children playing with a ball using _magic_ , and he could not process what his eyes are telling him.

Queen Ygraine . . . Had Merlin been transported to the past? No, no, Arthur's mother died when he was born. This Queen Ygraine has been reigning for 25 years, and Arthur has, according to the merchant, already been born. How old is Arthur than? And where is Uther? The queen only takes the mantle when the king is incapacitated or dead, and the heir has yet to come of age. If Ygraine's been queen for decades then, is Uther dead?

Merlin scratches his head, frowning as he tries to make sense of everything. How can Ygraine be alive? Has someone revived her?

 _There are some things that are beyond my power. I can't bend another's will, bring someone back from the dead, or change something that has happened in the past._

The Djinn's words resounds in his mind. The Djinn cannot revive anyone nor change Ygraine's fate. And since that annoying creature was the one that brought him here, it means -

 _However, I can transport them to a world where, hmm, their crush loves them back, their dad is alive, or they didn't do that one embarrassing thing that labeled them as losers._

Oh.

Realization kicks Merlin in the gut. He's not in the future nor in the past. His eyes widens, lips parting.

He is in another world, a very _different_ one from where he comes from. A world where magic is legal and used openly _in Camelot_. It isn't possible; jumping through one world to another in a snap? Surely that'll take a lot of time and power. Oh, who is he kidding? Merlin has encountered, done, and defeated many impossibilites. What's one more? The beginnings of hysteria claw at the corners of his mind, and he suddenly has a hard time breathing.

Because this is his luck, his epiphany is followed by a hard blow to the head. He finds himself face-down on the ground, quickly losing consciousness.

"Oh, _scite_."

"What happened?" Heavy footsteps shakes the ground, and gravel crunches under boots. Someone kneels and hovers beside him.

"It was Selia! She threw the ball and -"

"It's not my fault! He was standing too near! He should've . . ."

". . . hit a rock . . . a concussion? Do we . . ."

"I can . . . Here's . . "

Darkness pulls him under and Merlin knows no more.

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 **A/N:**

When I started writing this story, I didn't realize I'll be introducing a lot of OCs!

Thank you all for your comments, bookmarks, follows and kudos! I just really need to get this story out of my mind and I didn't realize people will actually like it XD.

Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!

Hope something happens today that will make you laugh!

~ Vividpast


	5. A Friend in Me

**Chapter Summary:** Merlin makes some friends and gains valuable information

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Chapter IV: A Friend in Me

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Something small with a blunt end pokes his cheek.

Merlin swats it away, mumbling pleas. Surely Gaius could give him a few more minutes to sleep? His head aches most profoundly, and his whole body is sore. He doesn't exactly remember what activities he had done yesterday but it's most likely Arthur's fault.

The same article is back, prodding insistently at his face. Merlin scowls. But the expression makes his temples throb more so he stops.

"Gaius . . ." Merlin blearily opens his eyes to welcome the sight of a wooden ceiling.

Wait. That certainly is not his room's stone ceiling.

Merlin bolts upright from the bed, memories flooding back. Another world. An orange carriage. New guards at the gates. Potions. Magic in Camelot. Queen Ygraine. _Prince_ Arthur. He instantly regrets his sudden movement because the motion is accompanied by a nausea that threatens to disown the contents of his stomach. He groans, his head punishing his insolence.

Someone yelps, and Merlin's alert eyes are immediately drawn to the source.

A little girl, appearing about eight summers, stands beside the cot he lays in, brown eyes wide as they meet Merlin's. Her pale face is dotted with freckles, long sandy hair pinned neatly at the back of her head. In her hands -

Merlin blinks.

In her hands is an eagle, crooning and cleaning its feathers. Except, Merlin knows for certain eagles don't have four legs, and the body and tail of a lion.

"Is that a griffin?" Merlin's voice rises, tinged with a hysterical note. He can't be blamed; the last time he saw a griffin, it attempted to tear him apart with its beak.

The girl beams, nodding rapidly. Her previously wary expression fades as she starts talking excitedly about her pet. "This is Kelly. I found her in the woods when she was just an egg." The girls holds out the magical creature to Merlin. It's half the girl's size, and Merlin wonders how she is able to carry it. "Da let me keep her since she catches and eats the rats in the inn. Good for business, he said!"

The warlock does not know what it is in his expression that indicates he wants the griffin anywhere near him. But the little girl stares at him, clearly expecting him to take the creature. And, when Merlin glances at the griffin, the same expression is painted on its face. The creature looks at him with guileless eyes, beak releasing soft croons. Its wings flutter, the claws of its forelegs beckoning Merlin closer.

The warlock gingerly encloses his fingers around the body of the griffin - the baby griffin. She isn't as heavy as he thought it would be. However, the moment Merlin's hands form a tentative grip upon her, the griffin decides to take matter into her own claws. She struggles out of Merlin's grasp, and lunges towards his chest. The warlock backs away with a shout of surprise but Kelly curves her body around his left shoulder, sharp talons dangerously close to the soft flesh of his neck. Merlin freezes, not even daring to breathe.

The little girl is nonplussed as she stares at the scene. "She really likes you! Kelly usually bites the fingers of anyone that tries to pet her. Except me, of course." The little girl giggles.

"Then why did you offer her to me?" Merlin screeches, indignant. The griffin nuzzles its head at hollow of his throat, and he swallows. The feathers tickle his skin in a spine-chilling manner.

The girl shrugs. "I just wanted to see what would happen."

"You're a very shrewd child," Merlin mumbles, trying to detach the griffin from him. Kelly's talons tighten in return, threatening to break skin, and the warlock ceases his attempts. He begs the child, "Please get her off me."

The girl climbs the bed, sitting over Merlin's blanket-covered legs. She doesn't even try to heed his pleas. "I'm Selia, by the way." With a comically serious expression, she lifts her hand for a handshake.

Merlin, mind still occupied with the blasted griffin around his neck, replies with a simple "I'm Merlin." He takes the offered hand and shakes it firmly. A memory flashes in his mind, vague and unclear. "Were . . . Were you the one who hit me with the ball?"

Selia's cheeks puffs even as the tips of her ears pink. "It's not entirely my fault. You were standing too near our play area!" She says, pointing an accusing finger at the warlock. Then, she slumps. "But I am sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. My aim was bad."

Merlin chuckles, endeared despite himself. "It's all right. I suppose I shouldn't have been absentmindedly standing around."

The girl looks pleased at the admittance. Ah, children. So easily appeased. "How is it?" She taps her own head. "Does it still hurt?"

"A bit, yeah." But the longer Merlin is conscious, the more the pain fades. He reaches out to the back of his head to feel for bumps or wounds. Strangely, he finds nothing. He frowns in confusion.

"Gilli said you hit your head on a rock when you fell." She holds up two fingers. "Two head wounds!" Merlin doesn't think she should sound as amazed as she does.

The name registers belatedly in his mind. "Gilli?"

Selia gasps. "I'm supposed to fetch him when you awaken!" She hurriedly climbs down the cot, and heads for the door. The wooden barrier opens without any contact, and Selia runs out of the room with no other explanation.

Merlin is left alone with the baby griffin, who has made herself comfortable atop his shoulders.

Gilli. The name belonged to a boy he met a few years back, one Merlin remembers with a melancholic note. The warlock had related very closely to the boy's feelings and situation, had pitied him so much that he had revealed his deepest secret. Could it be . . . ?

No, it is too much of a coincidence. He's in another world, and Gilli is a common enough name.

His wonderings come to a stop as the man himself enters the room, followed by Selia.

"-been awake for a few minutes. He told me his head hurt a bit," the girl reported.

Gilli, for it is he, nods solemnly at Selia's words. His is the first familiar face Merlin has seen in this world. And even then, Merlin barely recognizes him.

He looks younger than Merlin recalls, the frown lines in his face less prominent than the laugh lines. Merlin remembers seeing a boy, bitter with revenge and burdened with eyes older than his body. Although they share the same face, the man in front of him now is an entirely different than the one he met years ago. Gilli's face is open, a hint of naiveness and ungainliness gleaming through his posture. His hair is darker, cheeks fuller and eyes bright with youthfulness. No recognition sparks in his expression as he meets Merlin's eyes.

Merlin gapes. The more he stares, the more sure he is of his assumption; it has just been a speculation before but this here is proof that he truly is in another world. This Gilli is not - cannot be - the one he knows.

Merlin realizes that Gilli is speaking and the warlock himself has been asked a question. "Uh, what?" he asks intelligently.

Concern draws Gilli's brows in a furrow. "I asked if you're experiencing any dizziness?"

"N-No." Merlin couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop comparing. Fortunately, the griffin let out a chirp, tearing Merlin out of his trance. "Though if you get this thing off me, I would be grateful."

Amusement and sympathy shine in Gilli's eyes. Selia huffs, offended in behalf of her pet. "We know when we're not wanted. Come now, Kelly!"

Thankfully, Kelly loves Selia more than she loves Merlin's neck. She untangles herself from the warlock and jumps into the little girl's open arms.

"I'll bring supper," the girl promises with a bright smile before trotting out of the room.

"I'm Gilli, by the way." Merlin's attention was drawn back by the only other occupant of the room. "My friend and I treated you after you got hit. It wasn't anything serious," Gilli reassured. "Selia's father, Tom, offered to house you until you got better. I guess Selia is feeling pretty guilty for hitting you."

"Yes, she already apologized," Merlin says because he can think of nothing else. An awkward silence fills the room. Gilli is giving him an expectant look but Merlin does not know what he - Oh! "My name's Merlin. Thank you so much for treating me." The warlock skims the supposed wound on his head. "It doesn't really hurt that much now."

Gilli smiles, back straightening with pride. "I'm glad. I'm not a full-fledged healer yet, of course. But I do plan to study under Mage Gaius' tutelage and improve some more."

Merlin sputters. "Mage Gaius?"

"I suppose you would've heard of him." Gilli's gaze darts down, an embarrassed flush touching his cheeks. "It is a bit arrogant of me to assume he would choose me as an apprentice. More talented mages are competing for the spot."

Merlin understands none of the things Gilli is saying. Is it better to pretend he knows? It would be difficult to keep up later on . . . In the end, he decides to keep his questions to himself for now until he can determine this Gilli's trustworthiness.

"All right," he says. He searches for anything to say but finds little that would not reveal his cluelessness. He only knows that in this world, Ygraine is queen, Arthur is just a prince, and magic is used all around Camelot.

Magic is allowed.

The idea slams into him like a wheelbarrow rolling down the hill. He inhales a sharp breath and looks down on his hands in numb shock.

Magic is allowed in Camelot.

"I can do magic," he breathed out. He can use magic _inside_ Camelot without being arrested and executed. To Merlin, the notion is as foreign as the idea of Djinns before he met one.

"You can?" Gilli excitedly asks, seating himself on a wooden chair beside the bed and seemingly unbothered by the non-sequitur. Merlin's head snaps up, remembering that he is not alone. "Are you a mage like myself?"

Merlin's not entirely sure what the difference is. "No, I-" He trails off, still trying to wrap his mind around such an impossible concept.

Without thinking too much about it, he holds out a hand and produces a glowing blue orb floating atop his palm. Gilli gasps and Merlin's eyes turn to him. The warlock observes the younger man's reaction and sees nothing but awe and wonder. Gilli does not look around in fright, does not ask him to extinguish the light. Nothing in Gilli's countenance denotes that magic is unnatural in Camelot. Merlin lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding.

"I've never seen the likes of it before," Gilli confesses, fingers hovering over the spherical source of light. Then, he stills, expression going surprisingly blank. "You . . . You didn't utter any spell."

"A spell?" _For such a simple thing?_ Merlin vanishes the orb, wondering at the strange tone in Gilli's voice. "I . . . I don't know the spell for that." Merlin does not even think there is one. In his defense, he does own only one book about magic.

Gilli appears stunned. He opens his mouth but before he could say anything to clear up Merlin's confusion, the door to the room creaks open. Two individuals enter the room, carrying a tray each. The shorter one is, of course, a cheerful Selia with Kelly resting around her shoulders. She is chatting enthusiastically with the young man that came with her. The young man has pale skin, dark hair, and a broad figure suited for a knight of Camelot. As he raises his gaze, piercing azure eyes meet Merlin's. A sense of familiarity tugs at the warlock then, twisting his stomach into knots.

But Merlin is certain he has never met the man in his reality before. That is until Gilli straightens and calls out, "Mordred! That better be dinner!"

The name freezes the blood in Merlin's veins. Looking closely, the man greatly resembles the druid boy he helped escaped Uther's clutches years ago. He forgets how to breath for before him stands the man that is destined to end the life of his best friend.

Mordred smiles, and teases, "It is. I know how irritable you get if you go without food for an hour."

"It's my Da's best stew!" Selia pipes up.

Mordred's gaze then turns to him and he pauses, noting the warlock's shock. He shoots Merlin a puzzled look as he settles down a tray of food on the lone table in the room. "Nice to see you awake," he says, a hint of wariness slipping in his tone.

Merlin could do nothing but gape. Mordred nears the bed, intending to introduce himself properly. However, as the warlock sees Mordred approaching, he could not quite stifle down a flinch.

" _If the boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny,"_ Kilgarrah had once warned him. But the warlock did not heed it. Merlin had let the little boy live and escape Camelot because how could such an innocent child be capable or willing to harm Arthur in any way? But now, seeing Mordred years later, no longer a child but a man of great strength, Merlin feels his fear solidifying like a stone in his chest.

Mordred halts, frown deepening at Merlin's reaction. Gilli, noticing the growing tension, glances confusedly between Merlin and his friend. Selia continues praising her Da's cooking, oblivious.

"Have I . . . Have we met?" Mordred asks cautiously.

"Ah . . . no, no, we, we haven't." But they have. Just not this Mordred. Merlin tears his gaze away from the druid's face and closes his eyes. This Mordred is not the Mordred he knows. In this world, magic was never banned in Camelot. Perhaps in this world, the prophecy between Arthur and Mordred does not even exist. He tries to separate the Mordred he knows to the Mordred that stands before him. It is no use thinking of them the same, especially since this one seems to have helped him out of kindness. "I'm sorry, I - You have the same name of someone . . . of someone I know."

"I reckon it's not someone you're friendly with," Mordred states, half-serious, half in jest. He steps back and turns his attention to the steaming bowls on the tray.

Merlin let out an involuntary laugh. "I suppose so."

Gilli glances between them, clearly curious but decides not to pry. Selia and Kelly, meanwhile, have started digging in into their respective dinners.

Gilli cleared his throat. ". . . Well, Mordred, this is Merlin. Merlin's a magic-user like us." Gilli beams, looking as if that is the best news he heard all day.

 _Like us_. Right. Mordred has magic considerably powerful that someday, Merlin will be unable to protect Arthur against him. _No, no, no. Not this Mordred, not this Mordred_ , Merlin reminds himself.

"Mordred, at your service." Mordred offers Merlin a bowl stew, smiling reassuringly. The warlock takes the food with only a hint of hesitation. He hasn't had a single morsel since the afternoon and his stomach is punishing him for it.

Mordred hands Gilli another steaming bowl before sitting down on a stool with a stew of his own.

"How's your head, Merlin?"

"It's fine now," Merlin says after swallowing a mouthful of stew to silence his stomach. Oh, it is as Selia advertises. The stew is delicious enough to be served to nobility.

A dreadful thought crosses his mind, and he bristles. "Thank you, both of you. And I would thank Selia's father too for letting me borrow a room. B-But I'm afraid I haven't got coin to pay for it all."

Merlin does not usually carry money with him on quests with Arthur and this time is no exception. Not only is he in an unknown territory, he also haven't got the resources to survive in it! Merlin ponders on this dilemma, and more disturbing questions hit him, diminishing his appetite. He can no longer deny that he has been transported to a world not his own, a Camelot that is not _his_. What happens next? What does he _do_ next? He needs coin if he wants to eat - and Merlin wants that very much. He will have to get a job here. He needs more information about this world too while he is here. He isn't stuck here, is he? How will he get back to his world, to his own Camelot? Another Djinn perhaps? If there is a Djinn in his world, surely there's also one here. If Merlin could only know where to start looking for one, then he may have a chance to go back.

"-lin, Merlin!"

The warlock snaps out of his musings. He lifts his head and three concerned faces greets him. It seems he has been too engrossed in his worries to notice them calling for him.

"Don't worry about the room, Merlin!" Selia assures hurriedly. "Da's not gonna charge you for it. It was _me_ who hit you, after all."

"And we don't need payment," Mordred follows, hands up in a placating gesture. "You did become Gilli's experimental subject for his healing arts."

Gilli sharply elbows Mordred's side as Merlin looks alarmed.

"It is _not_ what it sounds like. I promise I didn't do anything that wasn't safe for me to do!" Gilli hastily explains, panicked.

"If you say so," Merlin replies, dubious, as he rubs his head to check if anything is amiss.

Gilli shoots Mordred a half-hearted glare, and Mordred responds by grinning roguishly. Merlin blinks, the interaction truly proving the difference of this Gilli and Mordred to the ones he met. In the first place, Merlin could never imagine them meeting, let alone strike a friendship.

"But how come you don't have any coin?" Selia asks, frowning. "Da always gives me some for candies. Did bandits take yours?"

"Ah." Merlin's mind quickly searches for a good lie. Gilli and Mordred lean forward, clearly curious for the answer as well. "Y-Yes. I encountered some bandits on the way to Camelot. Took everything I had."

"That's why you didn't even have a bag with you." Gilli nods to himself as if Merlin's statement confirmed his suspicions.

Merlin nods rapidly. "Yes!" Now, onto his first step to navigate through this world. He will have to depend on these two after all, trustworthy or not. The warlock has no choice. "You lot wouldn't happen to know a suitable job where I can earn some coin, would you?" Merlin is sure his pleading expression is evident to all. "I- I've worked as a servant before." Worked or still working as a servant? Merlin suddenly remembers _his_ Arthur, and wonders whether he and the knights got out of the encounter with the Djinn unscathe.

"As-As a servant?" Gilli splutters. "B-But your magic!"

". . . What about my magic?" Are magic-users prohibited from being servants? Merlin thinks that would be a ridiculous law. He is capable of doing the work of two servants with his magic.

Mordred casts a questioning look at Gilli for his hysterical behavior.

Gilli opens and closes mouth a few times, seemingly unable to voice out his thoughts. When he finally speaks, he demands of Merlin, "Make that orb thing again!"

Humoring him, Merlin frees up a hand and summons a glowing blue orb once more.

"Wow!" Selia exclaims and, without hesitation, palms the orb with both hands. Kelly croons. "It's so warm!" The little girl continues petting the light.

Merlin sees Mordred's jaw drop open, his blue eyes widening a fraction. He immediately destroys the orb, worried what Mordred may have deduced upon seeing the warlock summon it. Selia and Kelly let out sounds of disappointment.

"A _sáwle glæm_ ," Mordred breathes out.

"See, he did that without uttering a spell," Gilli says vehemently. Anger drips in his tone as he adds, "I think you've been taken advantage of, Merlin. You have great potential for magic and you certainly deserve to be more than a servant!"

Merlin flushes at Gilli's enthusiastic defense. Lancelot has been telling him something similar for the past few years. However, hearing the words from someone who has just met him and seen him do a _single_ harmless spell has a totally different effect.

"You . . . you have no idea what that was, have you?"

All eyes turn to Mordred, who wears an eerily blank expression. Merlin's shoulders raises instinctively as he always does when someone suspects him of any wrongdoing that is magical in nature. Sweat builds up around his forehead. "It was a light," he replies curtly.

Mordred's left eye twitches. "Where did you learn it?"

Merlin has been able to do it after being poisoned by the Morteus flower. He has learned it nowhere. Merlin considers saying exactly that but refrains at the last second. If Gilli has been so surprised to see him perform a wordless enchantment, then telling them that may make him stand out. Merlin, with years of hiding his magic and working in the background, has no desire to call attention to himself any more than necessary, especially if he is to waddle through this strange world that he knows so little of. No, better to lay low until he has any semblance of a plan. "I have - had - a book of magic," he answers instead, which is the truth indeed.

"You didn't apprentice under anyone?" Mordred continues inquiring, tone and countenance belying nothing of his real thoughts.

Merlin is currently Gaius' apprentice but he doubts that is what Mordred means. "N-No, I just read it in a book."

"I see." Mordred nods, gaze contemplative.

The air thickens with tension, and Merlin has half a mind to just flee. Mordred's piercing eyes remind him of the words, ' _I shall never forgive this, Emrys, and I shall never forget'_ for the child Merlin nearly killed favored him with the same kind of stare. Guilt and dread bubble inside him, and Merlin tightly clenches the sheets around him.

Gilli, Selia and Kelly stay in confused silence.

"Selia!" A voice booms from outside, startling them all and dissipating the suffocating atmosphere.

Selia squeaks. "I promise my Da to help him clean the dishes after I bring you dinner." With a speed unknown to everyone in the room, the little girl quickly finishes her own dinner and runs towards the door. Again, the door opens without her touch. "Get well soon, Merlin!" She says as she and Kelly departs from the room.

The three men stare at the door, unsure of what to say next. At last, Mordred grins broadly, breaking the awkward atmosphere. "Do you know of Camelot's Apprentice Exam tomorrow? Gilli and I have plans to take it."

Merlin is perplexed at the abrupt statement.

Gilli appears just as puzzled. "Yes, although I'll be taking the tests for mages and Mordred's taking the ones for sorcerers," Gilli follows reluctantly, trying to determine his friend's intentions.

Merlin perks up, interested beyond measure. "Uh - No, I haven't heard of it. Tests for sorcerers? And m-mages? Wha-What exactly does that entail?" Merlin remembers Arthur's 'tests' and they usually indicate quests to search for some ancient relic or another.

"Oh, you really are clueless." The amusement and wonder in Gilli's voice is truly unwarranted. "Everyone knows about the Apprentice Exam!"

"I'm not exactly from around here," Merlin could not help but drawl, a tad irritated.

"Then, where are you from exactly?" Mordred asks sharply, grin never wavering.

"V-Very far away. I doubt you'd even heard of it."

Mordred hums and Gilli once again shoots his friend an inquiring look. When Mordred fails to respond in any way, Gilli clears his throat and picks up the conversation.

"As you may know, more than a hundred full-fledged magic-users lives in Camelot." Judging by Merlin's startled expression, he does not, in fact, know. Gilli proceeds with the explanation nonetheless, silently wondering if Merlin's little head wound did more than render him unconscious. "A handful of those magic-users work in Queen Ygraine's court. The Apprentice Exam was proposed by Camelot's Court Sorcerer about fifteen years ago so that magic-users could pass on their knowledge to the next generation. It is to be held once every three years and so far, five exams have successfully gone through."

Camelot's Court Sorcerer . . . It is a phrase Merlin could only hope to hear in his world. Shaking the negative thoughts out of his mind, he decides to focus more on gathering as much information as possible. "Pass their - But couldn't they just write it down in books?" Merlin could not help but interject. Gaius has always emphasized on the importance of documentation because people's memories are unreliable, or so the physician says.

"Yes, well, a lot of enchantments are harder to learn from books." Gilli sniffs. "And you learn more by having a mentor than studying books."

"There are also certain spells that can only be passed down from one magic-user to another," Mordred adds pointedly.

Merlin thinks he learns much more from books than living sorcerers but that may be because he has never met one that is not trying to kill him or Arthur. "So, does the - this Apprentice Exam is a test to prove your worthiness?"

Gilli shrugs. "The Camelot court could only take in a couple of apprentices. Hundreds apply every year and the magic-users at court could not possibly take them all in. So, the Court Sorcerer proposed the Apprentice Exam to help narrow down possible apprentices. Those who do not get chosen can still choose to apply for apprenticeship for the magic-users not in Camelot's court." In a determined voice, Gilli says, "Although, I won't settle for any mentor less than Mage Gaius." As soon as utters the words, Gilli rubs his neck, embarrassed.

Mage Gaius. Merlin guesses Gaius is a famous sorcerer here. Merlin does not know if he can get used to the title attached to his name though. But the warlock is infinitely glad that at least Gaius is still in Camelot.

"I-It's like a tournament, then? A joust or a sparring competition?" Merlin recalls knights bashing each other's head with blunted swords, and imagines knights doing it with magic, shooting fireballs and summoning tornadoes.

Mordred tilts his head in thought. "I suppose you could say it's a competition."

"You are vying for the same positions." Gilli concedes. "But, unlike a joust, you don't fight each other. The magic-users at court appraises your skills through a series of tests. If your skillset is deem greater than those of the other applicants, you are more likely to be chosen as an apprentice. Each sorcerer picks at most two apprentices, each mage at least five."

Merlin supposes that is more reasonable than bashing each other's head senselessly. "So you two are applying? Tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'm aiming to be taken under Mage Gaius' guidance while Mordred here is aiming high."

"I'm apprenticing under the Court Sorcerer and no one else's," Mordred declares with a confident smirk. Then, Mordred snaps his fingers. "You should join us tomorrow."

Gilli blinks, obviously bewildered at the suggestion but goes along. To Merlin, he says, "You need money, right? If you get chosen, you can live in the castle. They'll provide you food and lodging, and a monthly allowance! You won't have to worry about getting a job."

Merlin scratches his head. Unlike Gilli or Mordred, he did not grow up in a world where a sorcerer is allowed to freely hone his skills. Merlin doubts he has the skill set to actually get chosen as an apprentice. He is Gaius' apprentice, and he knows he is a poor one at that, barely gaining knowledge about healing in the seven years under Gaius' care. Merlin has read one book of magic, and knows less than fifty chants. He is not going to be passing any kind of magical test soon.

But a version of Gaius will be there in the exam. Surely, in any world, Gaius is a fountain of knowledge. Surely, Gaius even in this world is trustworthy.

Merlin also reckons the Apprentice Exam is a good way to gather information about the magic in this world. Perhaps he can also find clues on the location of Djinns here. After all, a lot of sorcerers apparently would be in attendance. At least one certainly has the information he seeks.

There is no harm in trying, is there?

The warlock smiles, glad to finally have part of a plan. "Well, if you really don't mind, I'd also like to join you and participate. I'm not really familiar of anything in these parts."

"Splendid!" Gilli exclaims. "Now, really, my dinner's getting cold so any further questions you may have, Mordred can answer." With that, Gilli practically inhales his stew.

Mordred rolls his eyes as he sips demurely at his own dinner. Merlin wants to take advantage of the opportunity and asks endless questions. But he decides he has asked enough questions about seemingly obvious things in this world. It will not do well for him to raise suspicion. Besides, Merlin's head is beginning to ache once more.

After they finish their respective dinners, Mordred and Gilli bide Merlin a good night.

"We're just staying in the room across," Gilli informs him. "Rest as much as you can and we'll see you in the morning."

"Th-Thank you, Gilli. And Mordred. Truly. For taking care of me." The smile Merlin offers is nothing short of genuine. They truly have been kind to a stranger they know nothing about. Merlin wonders if everyone in this world is akin to them.

That night, Merlin lays awake in bed, a thousand thoughts buzzing in his mind. Eventually, he falls into a restless slumber.

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"What exactly is a _sáwle glæm_?"

Mordred pauses in removing his boots. Across him, on top of the second bed, Gilli continues changing into his nightwear. The flickering fires of the candles bathes them both in a surreal light, and moonlight filters languidly through the gaps of the closed window.

Mordred glances at the door to their room. Then, he answers, "It is what it sounds like - a glimpse of the soul. It is something you share with family, with a son or daughter, with a lover. It's certainly not something you go showing off to strangers."

Gilli blinks, processing that. "Then, why - ?"

"I don't think he knows what it means." Mordred has deftly discarded his boots and socks. He lifts his green tunic over his head, exposing pale skin marred only by a triskelion tattoo over the right side of his chest. "It's also not something you learn in any book. Father taught me how to summon a _sáwle glæm_ himself."

"He - He lied?" Gilli frowns.

"Perhaps." Mordred shrugs on a soft-padded shirt. "Do you know I first sensed that he barely had the magical capability to light a candle?"

"So? Why did you suggest he participate in the exam then?"

"Gilli, someone of that supposed calibre cannot possibly conjure a _sáwle glæm_. And do it chantlessly."

"Oh." Gilli's eyes widen. "Oh! He can suppress his aura?"

"That seems to be the case." Mordred pulls the sheets of his bed back. "I urged him to participate because -"

" - of the obsidian _scinncræfte_ crystal that will surely be used tomorrow, right?" Gilli rolls his eyes as he finishes Mordred's sentence for him. "You want to know what exactly he's capable of. You're so predictable."

Mordred smiles guilelessly but does not deny the accusation. "You've picked up quite a stray, my friend. You cannot blame me for being interested."

Gilli's brows furrow as his gaze turns contemplative. "You don't think he's dangerous, do you? He hides his aura, and he lied about where he learned that _sáwle glæm_. He seems to be fishing an awful lot of information about the exam. And I told him everything!"

Mordred stills again. Then, he gets under the covers. "Do you know children are more sensitive to evil ambiances?"

Gilli cocks a brow, unsure of Mordred's point.

Mordred continues, "A _sáwle glæm_ , a glimpse of his soul. Do you remember what Selia said when she touched it?"

"She said it was warm . . ."

"Exactly." Mordred sighs. "Go to sleep, Gilli. I don't think there's anything to worry about for now."

Gilli huffs as he fluffs his pillow and lays on the bed. "All right. You get some rest too. I'll never forgive you if you don't meet the Court Sorcerer's impossibly high standards and get chosen."

Mordred chuckles. "Of course."

With a gesture, the druid extinguishes all the lit candles.

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 **A/N:**

Man, do you know how much it took me to get Mordred's characterization just right? Ages, I tell you!

Hello, it's been a long time! I need to do some clarification on the timeline in this story! I made a list of divergence from canon in the first chapter's notes so old readers, kindly turn your attention there first ^_^.

Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!

Hope something happens today that will make you 'kilig'!

~ Vividpast


	6. The Past Can Hurt

**Warning/s:** Someone gets objectified and some shady things are implied

 **Chapter Summary:** Emrys is human

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Chapter V: The Past Can Hurt

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The Scrying Room has always been kept damp and cold. He runs fingertips along the smooth marbled walls of the chamber as walks by, and he feels the the light of the moon filtering through the open window. Carved unto the center of floor is a gigantus ornate pool that can comfortably fit ten adults. Filled with the clearest of water and adorned with several runes, the pool can be used even by the most basest of mages.

With a small wave of one hand, he puts up a mildly powerful barrier at the door. The lock clicks noisily. Certain that no one else can enter, he pulls down his hood and discards his cloak. He treads over to the edge of the pool, steps quiet and light.

" _Snæde_." Immediately, his left palm stings. Blood blooms from the cut on his hand, overflowing and dripping onto clear waters.

" _Geondlihte gesweorc min._ "

The water ripples once, the runes pulsing. He unlaces the strings of his shirt and pulls it over his head. His trousers comes off next, and soon, he stands with naught a cloth on.

" _Geondlihte gesweorc min,_ " he repeats, climbing down the pool. Unbearably cool water soaks his skin, and he fights down the urge to shiver. The marbled surface beneath his feet offers little friction as he walks to the center, water undulating in his path.

He presses hard on the wound on his palm, coaxing more warm blood to flow. " _Geondlihte gesweorc min."_

The water swirls, slowly at first, releasing tinkling whispers. Then, the movement grows more violent as each second ticks by, the soft sounds turning into hissing ones. Soon, the force of whirlpool is threatening to pull him down. It is by sheer will that he stands unmoved in the eye of the minute storm.

" _Geondlihte gesweorc min onbutan . . ."_

He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as possible.

" _Emrys,"_ he whispers before letting himself be devoured by the waves.

His head goes underwater. The water muffles each one of his senses. The coldness of his surroundings is placed at the back of his mind. He expects concrete touches and clear voices but gets vague impressions and barely comprehensible sentences instead. He curses inwardly; the Emrys is contained in an area with an effective anti-scrying enchantment. However, no defensive spell is truly imprenetable for him. He lets out a great pulse of magic, igniting all the runes surrounding the pool. He weaves through the spell blocking his scrying, attempting to find or create a weak spot. At last, a few minutes later, he manages to find a tiny gap between the threads of magic. He smoothly slips through the enchantment without breaking it. A few seconds later, foreign sensations flits by his skin and a single voice echoes through his ears.

The smell of potions and fire. " _What about A—King Arthur? Blond-hair, blue eyes, bit of a prat –"_

Children's laughter and the thumps of a rubber ball bouncing. " _No one's getting arrested. They're all doing magic . . ."_

A great pain in the head. He winces, injured hand touching upon his temple.

Claws scratching his collarbone. _"Is that a griffin?"_

The taste of meaty stew. _"So, does the - this Apprentice Exam is a test to prove your worthiness?"_

" _A spell? I . . . I don't know the spell for that."_

Then, the scent of dragonfire and lightning sting his nose. He breathes in sharply in shock, and water enters unwelcomely in his lungs.

He hastily swims his way to the surface and roughly coughs out all the liquid he has inhaled when he gets there. He massages his burning chest as he doubles over. He grips the edge of the pool with pale white fingers as he composes himself. Water sluices down his shoulders and back, cold droplets clinging to his skin. The waters of the pool calms almost immediately after his ascent, whirlpool dissipating in a blink.

The scrying is barely successful, and yet, the revelations are no less startling.

 _Impossible._

He has scried for the Emrys the Old Religion has been so fearful of. He has expected to touch the fur of a beastly creature or feel the smooth surface of an ancient device. Instead, he has sensed a being on two legs, carrying on with two arms, and a head with a mop of hair. He has heard a voice mumble intelligible phrases.

Emrys is human.

He wraps his arms around himself, shivering intermittently. The cut on him palm continues to bleed sluggishly.

No mortal flesh can survive containing such immense power and energy. Their veins will be torn apart by the imbalance shortly after their blood boils.

No, such a thing cannot possibly be human. Then, perhaps, Emrys is only masquerading as one. Yes, that is more likely. If so, Emrys is clearly sentient enough to pass off as a human. Already, he foresees a plethora of complications tagging along with this implication. Sentient beings are harder to tame, to control, to predict. Emrys may be less useful to his plans than he initially think.

However, another fact has caused a bigger mystery for him. Another discovery gets most of his attention, and places his mind in turmoil.

Dragonfire and lightning.

Emrys' magic releases the smell of dragonfire and lightning.

 _Impossible. It cannot be. How? Why? There is no precedent -_

Yet that is what his scrying has presented him.

Dragonfire and lightning.

He gingerly climbs off the pool, and the icy breeze wracks his frame.

" _Ic i drýge_ ," he mutters. Blisteringly warm air blows against his skin, and in a span of seconds, he is no longer wet.

" _Þurhhæle dolgbenn_ ," he chants. The skin of his cut palm stitches together and heals seamlessly.

With a flick of his hand, his discarded clothes flies towards his arms. He gingerly dons them once more, thinking through his next plans.

He knows not what to think. He has uncovered a paradox and a preposterous anomaly. Scrying has given him more questions than answers, and irritation pierces his breast. His books may hold something to ease the confusion but it will take much more time. Nevertheless, he will delve into research soon. He goes over the tomes that may hold clues regarding Emrys' personage.

But perhaps . . . meeting the source itself will shine quite a light on the whole phenomenon. Up close with Emrys, he may be able to get the answer he needs. Mother will want quicker results after all, and nothing will be faster than getting information from Emrys itself.

He drapes the cloak over his shoulders and flips the hood up, enshrouding his face in inexplicable shadows once more. He wordlessly destroys the barrier on the door, and unlocks it.

 _The Apprentice Exam_.

Of course. The whole of Camelot is wrapped in every defensive spell in existence. No wonder his scrying did not bear as much fruit as he wants.

Emrys is in Camelot. The corners of his lips tick upwards.

It has been a while since his last visit to the renowned kingdom of magic.

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Merlin jerks awake, gasping as if he has not inhaled air all his life. A sheen of sweat covers his whole body, soaking his clothes and the bedsheets. An ache blooms between his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose to stave it off.

What has he been dreaming about? It feels like a nightmare but one not quite vivid enough to leave a lasting impression. He sighs and pulls the covers off himself. He doubts he'll sleep any more tonight. Or this morning, Merlin amends as he sees the soft light of dawn filtering through the slightly parted shutters.

His bare feet meets the cool smooth floorboards of the inn. Grip by the urge to breathe some fresh air, he walks towards the lone window and opens it fully. Unbidden, he remembers his first day in Camelot and how he did the same act upon arriving in the room lent to him by Gaius.

The sweet scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat assaults him. He deeply breathes in the fragrant smell before bracing himself against the sill and peeking out of the window. Being in the second floor of the inn gives Merlin a wonderful view of the city life below. Directly across the inn are the stalls causing such beautiful smell. One stall presents an array of long breads, some glazed with white confectionary powder. The stall adjacent contains steaming plates filled with heaps of cooked lambs, goat and pork. Already, early risers flock both stalls, attracted by both the smell and sight.

Merlin dearly wishes he has some coin.

The nearby stores show a variety of wares - blades of different lengths, magical staffs with a motley of designs, knapsacks of roughly the same sizes, potions of various hues, colorful charms, and premade shirts and breeches for men and women. From his vantage point, Merlin can hear the vendors advertising their products, their voices meshing cacophonously in the crisp morning air. He can also see many of them using magic to arrange their displays or catch the attention of potential customers. In the sword store, two daggers are even sparring against each other, controlled by invisible hands.

Magic in Camelot. Something in his chest clenches at the thought, and butterflies flutter in his belly. This is the world he hopes to see in his lifetime. This is the world Merlin hopes to build with Arthur.

How exactly did Merlin get here? He does not recall uttering any kind of wish or what could be construed as one. He was specifically careful with his words after those agonizing visions of the future. Had someone wished Merlin here then? To what end? Now that he is thinking about it, the Djinn did go somewhere else before casting the warlock into this other world. An earthquake overtook the inside of the lamp, and the temperature rose. In hindsight, Merlin can now deduce that at that moment, someone had rubbed the lamp. Someone had summoned the Djinn, hence, the creature's abrupt departure.

Who had called the Djinn? Arthur or one of the knights? They were the only ones near the lamp. But why would they wish for Merlin to live in a magical Camelot? Lancelot is the only one who knows of his magic, and even then, the knight would not have known of the possibility of other worlds. Furthermore, it's unlikely Lancelot would want Merlin transported anywhere else. The knight is his friend and understands Merlin's duty to Arthur and Camelot. The only one who may have the motive to separate Merlin from Camelot is . . . A chill claws down the length of his spine.

Morgana.

Could it be? Could she have found out about Merlin being Emrys, the protector of the Once and Future King? Could she have found the Djinn and _Arthur and the knights_ in the woods after Merlin had inadvertently wished himself inside the lamp?

Merlin envisions the blood the she will spill, the innocents she will kill, the magic that she will use to raze villages down to the ground. He imagines Arthur adamantly facing against his vengeful sister armed with a sword burnished with dragonfire but receiving no other magical aide.

His breaths come in short gasps, not enough air getting in his lungs. Blacks spots pepper his vision and nausea rolls in his stomach.

He needs to get back - to the knights, to Arthur, to Camelot. He feels unbearably helpless, so near Camelot yet so far from the Camelot he needs to be.

His chest burns tremendously, and a hand unconsciously grips the cloth above his heart to soothe the pain. His fingers feel warm engraved metal underneath his tunic. He is startled out of his frenzied musings.

He blinks and looks under his clothes. Realization dawns on him as he catches sight of it. He pulls at the leather string around his neck until it and its pendant are out of his neckerchief and shirt.

On his hands lay a silver brooch adorned with a carving of a bird mid-flight.

 _It bears my mother's sigil_ , Arthur had said as he handed the brooch to the servant. The king had done it so blasély, and yet the gravity of the action was not lost to Merlin then and it is not lost to Merlin now. Arthur had given the warlock one of the very few reminders he had of his mother.

The king had planned to sacrifice himself to close the veil and defeat the Dorocha. Arthur had perhaps thought a dead man would have no need to hold onto such sentimental things, and thus, given such a precious item to a servant. But then, Arthur had escaped death and had not asked Merlin to give it back.

Merlin had, of course, offered to return the gift. Arthur had cocked a condescending brow, and remarked that kings had more than enough jewelries and that kings who were worth their salt did not take back gifts once given. Honestly, Merlin had stopped listening after a while. It was obvious that Arthur had been trying to hide his embarrassment. Merlin pushed the issue no further.

The brooch is one of the rare tangible proof of his friendship with Camelot's king, and his fear of losing it has overcome his guilt of keeping it. A few weeks after the incident with the Dorocha, when the warlock was certain that Arthur would not take it back, he had securely strapped the brooch in a leather cord. He now wears it around his neck for safekeeping, and as a reminder Arthur views him as more than a bumbling servant.

It is light and almost flat. Under his tunic and neckerchief, it remains unnoticed by the populace and most of the time, even by Merlin himself. Once he got used to its weight, the warlock often forgets about it.

Stroking the embossment of the brooch, he is glad to rediscover it now. That he has taken along a strong reminder of his Camelot with him in this unknown territory consoles him completely. A sense of comfort washes over him, dissipating the remains of his panic. While the sense of urgency is still there, a swell of determination follows along with it. He no longer feels helpless.

Merlin _will_ get back to his world soon. Arthur has the knights, Gwen and Gaius. Camelot will be safe until the warlock gets back. He clasps the brooch tighter. It has to be.

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"Ohoh, you're up early."

Merlin lifts his head in surprise as he carefully climbs down the last set of stairs. The first floor of the inn is a tavern - a fully stocked one if the several barrels lining up behind the counter is any indication. Worn out wooden chairs and tables is arranged systematically around the room, each of them scratched and chipped in at least three places. Even though the sun has barely risen, it seems this particular establishment is already entertaining a few guests.

The barman halts in the action of wiping down the counter. He bears a mop of brown hair and his eyes depict the same shade. He has the build of someone who could stop a bar fight with one hand, and Merlin blinks confusedly when the man offers him a smile. "I guess it's not that of a surprise, seeing as you've been unconscious for almost two days."

Merlin splutters. "T-Two days!?" Why did Mordred or Gilli not even make a passing mention of that? Was it not only a small wound? Why did it knock him out for so long!?

"That young mage told me did think it was a bit unusual." The barman flips the cloth over his shoulder. "Do you feel better now?"

"Y-Yes." Merlin approaches the man, an inkling of his identity poking the warlock's mind. "I'm Merlin. Are you Selia's father?"

The man's smile widens at the mention of Selia. "The name's Thomas Collins but most people here call me Tom. And yes, I have a last name. 'Tis not that uncommon, let me tell you."

The blood drains from Merlin's face.

" _Scite_! Sit down, lad." Tom guides Merlin onto one of the stools surrounding the counter. Merlin let him because the warlock feels the need to get off his feet. "Goddess, you're don't look completely hale."

"N-No, no, I'm fine, I'm fine." Merlin has just met a _ghost_.

When Merlin first arrived in Camelot, the beheading of Thomas James Collins was taking place. The servant can never forget the name nor the squelching sound that followed after the executioner's axe slammed down. Merlin could not bear to look at the act or the aftermath, could not tolerate looking at the man's face for more than a few seconds. Thomas Collins is the first person Merlin saw being executed for the crime of sorcery. It is also the same man standing before him. Or wait, is it?

"Di-Did you -Wh-What's your mother's name?" Merlin almost demands.

Tom appears unsurprised at the inquiry and releases a sigh that denotes he has answered the question one too many times. "Yes, my ma was Mary Collins. Yes, I got my last name from her. No, I'm not a nobleman drowning in riches. If you must know, my mother was the ninth child of the Collins family, and I doubt I'll even see a coin of their fortune. Anything else you want to know?" Tom cocks a brow in challenge.

"N-Nothing else. Thank you." Merlin has already gotten his confirmation. Of course Thomas Collins is alive. Magic is legal so there is no reason for his execution in the first place. His mother did not promise revenge against the Pendragon line and attempt to kill Arthur.

Mary Collins did not die by Merlin's hand.

"I-Is your mother well?" The warlock could not help but ask, an old familiar dull ache piercing his chest.

Tom's brows rise. Then, his face softens slightly. His smile turns wan. "She passed away a couple of years ago."

"I-I'm sorry for your loss."

Tom waves the apology away. "She lived a full life and was able to say goodbye to me and Selia. Nothing to be sorry about."

A full life . . . Merlin shudders, remembering a falling chandelier, a throwing knife in the air, and a wrinkled face filled with hatred.

"I thought everyone knew about my ma." Tom claps Merlin's back, laughing. "Thought you were gonna start asking for stories. Don't get me wrong; my inn often benefits from the Collins name but sometimes, it gets annoying to repeat the same 'my ma invented this and that spell/potion' spiel."

Now, Merlin really wants to know more. Before he can begin requesting for said stories, the door to the tavern's backroom opens with a loud crack. A ginger-haired woman rushes in the tavern proper, toting a tray full of steaming plates.

More than one patrons hoot and cheer at her entrance. Merlin's stomach lets out a loud growl as the smell of freshly cooked food reaches his nose. Tom gives him a look and Merlin ducks his head, mortified.

The inn-owner chuckles. "Polly!" He calls out.

The ginger-haired woman delivers the last dish on her tray to an eagerly waiting couple. She turns to Tom with a thunderous frown, making the lines on her face more prominent. She looks only slightly younger than the inn-owner. "What?" She bites out.

"Get a special for this fella over here, would you?"

Polly's hawk-like gaze shifts to the warlock.

"I haven't got the coin to pay for it," Merlin hurriedly reminds them. "But I'll pay you back for my stay in the inn, I swear."

Maybe he will be able to get a job as a servant in the castle after the Apprentice Exam. He just have to impress the nobles and royals with how good he is at cleaning rooms, doing laundry, and serving food. Or maybe save some royal prat's life. Right.

"Do you need any help around the inn?" Merlin asks. "I'm - I was a servant. I could help around with cleaning the chambers, with laundering the sheets or maybe cooking?"

Tom laughs kindly. "All's on the house, Merlin. I've got enough hands around here, and my inn's not doing so poorly that I have to charge the poor man Selia knocked unconscious."

Polly's face smoothens, and with a curt nod, she goes back to the kitchen.

A skinny man seated near the tavern entrance shouts, "If that's the case, get me that lass and let her hit me with that toy!"

"Me too!"

"For free ale and more of Polly's cooking!" one roars.

"Aye!"

Tom rolls his eyes. To Merlin, he says, "Ignore those drunkards." The statement causes a few grumbles from the customers. "But truly, don't worry about it. What Selia did was extremely dangerous and I've given her a proper scolding for it."

A mug of mead slams down on the counter, making Merlin jump. The same skinny man near the entrance slides in the stool beside Merlin's. Upon closer look, he seems to be as old as the warlock, short spiky dark hair decorating his head. His brown eyes stare inquisitively and intensely at Merlin. The man's face gets uncomfortably close and the warlock leans away to create a much needed personal space. He also backs away because the man's breath reeks of alcohol.

"Say, are you looking for work?"

Two plates smack at the space between them, the food almost toppling onto the wooden surface of the counter. Merlin startles for the second time, springing away from the overly friendly man. Polly, with much more gentle gestures, arranges and places down the cutlery and drink.

"I'll not have you recruiting in this fine establishment!" Polly's severe expression puts Gaius' to shame.

Tom frowns as well. "We agree you won't do business in my inn, Levi."

"Psht." The man takes a huge swig of mead. "Just making friendly conversation." His gaze flicks from Merlin's arms to his legs.

The warlock glances at the food in front of him, at Tom, at Polly, then at Levi. "What kind of work is it?" It must be something bordering on illegal judging by Tom's and Polly's reactions. While Merlin have no plans to dabble in something shady, he is curious about what counts as unlawful in this world.

Levi smirks. He opens his mouth to answer but Tom shoots him a scathing glare, and Levi closes his mouth with a huff.

"You can find more _decent_ jobs, Merlin," Tom assures him. To Levi, he orders with a glower, "Shoo, go bother someone else."

The man clicks his tongue but brusquely complies. He scoots out beside Merlin and seats himself back to his previous table. Merlin frowns, the whole interaction leaving him confused and a bit suspicious. He chooses to find out more about it later after his stomach ceases eating itself.

"Is it really fine if I don't pay?" Merlin stares longingly at the roasted chicken and oiled vegetables in front of him.

Polly sniffs. "What, you don't find my cooking appetizing?"

"I-It looks delicious!" Merlin hastily says, afraid to be on the end of the chef's intimidating glare.

"Then eat up," Polly replies simply before striding towards the backroom once more.

"Oi, barkeep! Get us some more ale here!"

"Yes, yes." Tom turns to Merlin with a wide smile. "Well, I've got customers to keep happy. Don't be a stubborn lad, now, and eat your breakfast." With that, the inn-owner goes to attend to the morning crowd.

Merlin figures a bit of food wouldn't hurt. He'll find a way to pay Tom back, he promises himself. He starts digging in, and his stomach rewards him by staying silent and stopping the punishing twists. He slices a piece of the chicken leg, smoke still rising from the newly cooked food and juices sliding down the tender meat. He eats without finesse after the first bite, never having such a hearty fare in all his life. It cannot compare to Arthur's everyday breakfast but it is much better than the gruel Gaius oftentimes prepare.

As he is polishing the last scraps on the plate, a blur of feathered gray attacks his face. He sputters and attempts to remove whatever is suffocating him. His magic is ready to act and defend him when the blur moves swiftly off his face and coils around his neck. Merlin feels cool sharp claws once again threatening the veins in his throat.

Kelly croons, the sound reverberating throughout his skin. Merlin bristles, trying to breath as little as possible.

"Merlin, you're up!" Boisterous footfalls fills the area near the stairs.

The warlock twists around and sees Selia running down the staircase. Except, the little girl's appearance is quite different from last night. Her sandy hair, which has to have been shoulder-length, now barely reaches her ears.

"You cut your hair?" Merlin blurts out.

"What?" Selia pats down the said hair. "No, silly! I'm feeling like a Selly today." She wrinkles her nose, glaring at Kelly. "Well, she seems fond of you," she grouses grumpily.

"Selly?" Merlin's brows furrow as the warlock tries to understand Selia's - Selly's? - point. Did she decide on a new haircut and name overnight? Is that a normal custom in this world?

"There's the man of the hour!" a burly woman hoots, lifting her drink in a toast.

"Such a fearsome lad!"

"Maiming someone twice his size!"

"Cross the mighty Selly and pay the price!"

Selly's face grows increasingly red at each remark. Tom watches, shaking his head and looking amused. Merlin blinks rapidly in mounting befuddlement. 'Man'? 'Lad'? 'His'?

"Shut up, shut up!" Selly screeches, even going so far as dashing to the nearest patron teasing her - him? - and kicking them in the shin.

"Ow!"

"Selly!" Tom calls his child out, tone chastising.

The hurt party merely raises an empty cup and exclaim, "I've been injured by your spawn, Tom. Free refill!"

Tom ignores them, opting instead to head for the kitchen. Selly huffs and climbs the stool beside Merlin, ignoring her/his father in turn. Her/His feet hangs a feet from the ground and her/his nose barely reaches the counter.

"Are you - Are you a boy?" Merlin cannot help but ask, wanting to clarify. The warlock has thought him a little girl the night before upon seeing the long hair and soft features. But looking at the child now, he is evidently male.

"Sometimes," Selly answer offhandedly, filching a piece of chicken meat from Merlin's plate. "When I feel like it."

Merlin is left even more baffled. Tom, having come back to the tavern proper, lays down a dish of chicken and vegetables in front of his son. He set down a bowl of uncooked meat further down the counter. Kelly chirrups and thankfully slithers out of Merlin's shoulders. The griffin jumps onto the counter and scurries towards the bowl with great fervor and speed.

"Selly's good at gendershifting magic," Tom explains, pride obvious in his voice. "He likes to change genders whenever he feels like it." The inn-owner ruffles Selly's hair fondly, causing the short strands to spike up. "I reckon you haven't met one like him?" As soon as the words leaves Tom's lips, an odd emotion flashes by inn-owner's face, and he side-eyes Merlin. Gingerly, he rests a hand on his son's shoulder as he eats, fingers taut.

"No, I haven't." Magic that changes genders? Merlin did perform one that ages him fifty years so he supposes Selly's type of magic is not so farfetched. "So you were a girl last night?"

Selly nods, swallowing a big bite of his food. His cheeks swell on both sides and he takes a quick curious glance at his father.

"And now you're a boy?"

Selly nods again. Merlin becomes less perplexed as he grasps the practical applications of such enchantment. It is a useful disguise technique. A hunched back and creaking joints are things Merlin will happily get rid of if possible. On the other hand, Selly seems to be doing the enchantment for no other purpose than fun. Merlin remembers that the children were also using magic just to play with a rubber ball before. Doing magic for fun. Huh. The last time Merlin did that, Uther called for a witchfinder and Gaius almost got executed.

"Is it difficult, the spell?" Merlin inquires, shaking away the gruesome memories. He tries to finish the last of his food before his appetite wanes.

Tom lets out an almost audible breath and he withdraws his hand from Selly's shoulder.

"Not for me," Selly says proudly. "Da says that people usually take _weeks_ to learn it but it took me only five days!" The boy holds out five fingers for emphasis.

Merlin makes an appropriately amazed sound. "Where'd you learn it?"

The entrance to the tavern creaks open, revealing half-a-dozen men. Tom goes back to cater to the new arrivals, leaving Selly and Merlin to talk.

"Da bought me a book in the market. He taught me how to read it."

Merlin perks up, a cup of water halfway to his lips. "A book of magic? You can easily buy one?"

"Of course." Selly gives him a strange look. "Well, I suppose you could _steal_ one . . . The ones with advanced spells are very expensive." He rubs his chin, contemplative.

"I d-don't think that's necessary." Merlin hopes he sounds as discouraging as possible.

For the next half-an-hour, Selly tells Merlin about the gender shifting spell in detail. The enchantment is a basic one or so Selly claims. It alters little of the original appearance but greatly changes the inside of the body.

Merlin blinks. "The inside of the body?"

"Yes." Selly lifts the empty plate and begins licking it. Patches of sauce stains his cheeks and mouth. "You recognize me because I still look like myself, right? On the inside, however, I'm a boy now." After a beat, Selly sets down the plate, revealing a solemn expression. He narrows his eyes at the warlock and slowly says, "You see, Merlin, a man and a woman's body is very different. For example, between her legs, a woman has -"

"All right, got it!" Merlin nearly screams, voice pitching high. How in the world does a child like Selly already know these things? Merlin had been fifteen winters when his mother first explained to him about the nuances of a man and a woman's body. He clears his throat and immediately changes the subject. "H-How about the process of casting the spell itself?"

Selly seems confused about Merlin's reaction but continues his explanation. Like Merlin's aging spell, a potion can be made to quicken the process or lessen the magic needed to perform the entire transformation.

"Although the ingredients for the potion are not cheap so I just cast the spell as usual," Selly says. Kelly, who has finished her meal not long after she started, is now resting on the boy's lap. Selly runs his fingers through the feathers of the griffin's wings. His mouth is still a mess and Merlin is trying hard to curb his smile. "It's not that strenuous for me anyway."

Merlin deftly unties his neckerchief. "What's the exact spell? Wait, hold still." The warlock wets his neckerchief with the remaining water in his mug. He then proceeds to thoroughly wipe off the grime on Selly's face. The child grimaces, making noises of complaint, but does not pull away from the servant's ministrations.

"What spell?"

Merlin and Selly whip their heads towards the source of the voice. Gilli yawns, slumping down on the free seat beside Merlin. He scratches his head, messing it up further. He does not look quite awake. Mordred, who chooses to occupy the chair next to his friend, looks much more put together. His curls are neatly combed and his eyes are bright and alert.

"Selly's teaching me the gender shifting spell," Merlin replies, facing the little boy again to finish the cleaning up. He rubs away the last of the sauce, leaving Selly with slightly reddened spots.

"Selly?" Both Gilli's and Mordred's stares shift to the little boy. "Selia has a twin brother?"

"No!" Selly harrumphs, crossing his arms. Kelly mimics the sound.

"Oh." Mordred's features alight with realization. "You can do shapeshifting spells? Impressive for one so young."

Selly beams at the praise, puffing out his chest. Kelly puffs out her own feathers. Mordred and Gilli accepts this phenomenon just like that. Merlin is amazed that such transformations are deemed normal.

"Why do you want to learn it, Merlin?" Gilli asks, tilting his head. Beside him, Mordred flags down Tom to order breakfast.

"It might come in handy someday," Merlin reasons with a shrug, stuffing the dirty neckerchief in his jacket pocket. In his mind, he is already considering it for his next disguise if the situation calls for it. And knowing Arthur, Merlin is almost certain a situation will call for it.

Mordred mutters, "Interesting way of looking at it."

"But you shouldn't be performing spells this morning." When Merlin shoots Gilli a questioning look, the mage expounds, "You should conserve your energy for the Apprentice Exam. I predict it will be a taxing day."

"You're taking the Apprentice Exam?" Selly is practically bouncing in his seat.

Merlin nods, amused at the little boy's enthusiasm. The warlock doubts the results will favor him no matter what. "Will we be able to talk to the - to Mage Gaius during the exam?" For Merlin, that is the only thing that matters.

Gilli shakes his head, face a portrait of disappointment. "I don't think so. They'll be too busy appraising the applicants."

"And I heard it's frowned upon to cozy up to the magic-users before or during the whole exam," Mordred adds. "They'll be accused of biased judgement."

"What about after the exam?"

Polly approaches their corner, bearing two platters filled with fried pork, poached eggs, and cured fish. Gilli cannot wait and grabs his share out of Polly's arms. Mordred accepts the food with grace and a simple "Thank you". Polly sniffs, and her severe frown never wavers as she goes back to the kitchen.

"What about after the exam?" Merlin repeats his question, which has been forgotten in the wake of hot food.

"Merlin," Mordred begins, a hint of exasperation coloring his tone. "These people are of high position and power. Unless we prove ourselves to them, I doubt they'll spare us another glance."

Gaius, even the one of this world, surely cannot be like that? The physician has never cared about the status of the one he is healing; he only cares that they need his help. Merlin resolves to find Gaius after the exam and prove Mordred wrong. Merlin absolutely _needs_ his help, and the warlock can think of no one else at the moment who has the knowledge or power to aid him.

"Don't worry, Merlin!" Selly pats Merlin's knee, snapping him out of his brooding. "You'll get chosen. I know it!"

"Thanks, Selly." No use worrying about it for now. Merlin can only act after the exam. "Now, we were talking about the exact words to the basic gendershifting spell?"

For the next couple of minutes, Selly teaches the warlock the words, enunciating each syllables. Gilli and Mordred start on their respective meals, casting strange looks at Merlin once in a while.

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 **A/N:**

Oh man, oh man, thank you all so much for all your kudos, bookmarks, favorites, follows and reviews! Ooh, those reviews in particular make my heart sing!

Sorry for such a loooooong filler chapter but I promise, it's not as much of a filler as you think it is ;). I was wondering if someone noticed that in the prologue, I referred to the children playing ball as 'young boys' and then, suddenly, a girl like Selia is in the equation. Hahaha, I thought someone was going to roast me for that consistency error before I got this chapter out.

Anyway, I'm looking for someone to bounce ideas with. I'm having a hard time fleshing out the characters in this story and I would really like it if I can have someone who can help me visualize them. It'll only take a couple of minutes of your time!

 **Cons** : You will be majorly spoiled, I think, and might never enjoy this story again :( (if you enjoyed it in the first place lmao)

 **Pros:** If I never get to finish this story, at least you'll know my plans for it!

PM me at FF . net or send me a message at blissful-whims . tumblr . com if you're interested :D

Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!

Have an absolutely brilliant day!

~ Vividpast


	7. You Can Either Run or Learn From It

**Chapter Summary:** Merlin garners more information about the world and decides on a new resolve.

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Chapter VI: You Can Either Run or Learn From It

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"Teach me how to make that light!"

Merlin halts his soft muttering of the gendershifting spell at Selly's excited demand. "Light?"

"The light! The blue one that you made last night."

Mordred pauses for half-a-second then continues eating casually, expertly hiding his extreme interest. Gilli has no such compunction, shifting in his seat and staring at Merlin and Selly with unbridled curiosity.

"Er." The warlock risks a glance at Mordred.

The druid had been abruptly suspicious of Merlin after he had produced the light. While Merlin doubts it will make a difference should Mordred see it a second time, the warlock decides to be cautious. He's not exactly sure what it is about the light that rings Mordred's alarm bells. Maybe the fact that Merlin has done it without a spell? When he first met Gaius, the physician had demanded to know the spell the warlock used to stop time and drag the cushion. When Merlin said he used none, Gaius had barely believed him.

"That one's a bit hard to make. How about another type of light instead?" Before Selly can protest, Merlin holds out a hand, palm up and fingers spread wide. Despite Gilli's advice of saving his energy for the exam, he mutters a " _Léoht._ " A soft beam of white light flickers to life atop his hand, just barely seen in the mid-morning sun.

Selly let out an awed sound. He tries to touch the light but his fingers go through it without resistance. This seems to amaze him even more. Kelly chirrups, lifting and tilting her head. She opens her sharp beak and heads for Merlin's hand. The warlock flinches, pulling back and almost falling out of his seat. The summoned sunlight vanishes. Gilli steadies him with wide confused eyes.

Kelly hangs her head, crooning sadly. Selly pets her in comfort.

"Don't be afraid," Selly says, lower lip jutting in a pout. "She won't hurt you. Kelly likes you!"

"Right, sorry." For a moment, Merlin has seen an adult griffin darting in to pierce his insides.

He releases a deep breath. As a way of an apology, Merlin produces the same light again. He brings it closer to Kelly, who perks up. The baby griffin looks at it curiously. Much more slowly this time, Kelly moves her beak and tries to eat the light. Merlin feels the pointed tip poke his palm but never breaks skin. He exhales the breath he does not realize he is holding.

Selly wiggles his fingers, adopting a very solemn expression. " _Leoht, Leoht, Leoht,"_ he repeats without the intention behind a spell.

Merlin lets the light dissipate. Kelly croons in disappointment at the loss. "No, _Léoht._ "

Selly frowns. "That's what I said."

The warlock and child argues about the inflection for a good while. Mordred and Gilli give them amused looks as they continue to squabble about a trivial thing.

"Ohoh, you practice magic, Merlin?" Tom notes when the number of customer ebbs and he finds the time to check up on his son.

"Merlin's gonna take the Apprentice Exam!" Selly exclaims loudly as if he himself is participating.

"Not surprising," Tom replies with a smile. "In the past few days, every other person you see on the street is joining in on the exam."

 _That many?_ Merlin is taken aback. How big of an event is this exam? He keeps the question to himself and instead asks, "Where exactly is the exam taking place?" Merlin can think of no place in the citadel where a great amount of people can fit.

"Supposedly, in the training grounds in front of the castle," Mordred answers as he finishes the last bits of the fish. "For sorcerers anyway. Mages' tests are held indoors."

Gilli snorts. "We're not in the habit of showing off, unlike you lot."

"It's held indoors because no one would want to see you staring at a bowl of water," Mordred teases, earning him a punch on the shoulder from Gilli.

"There's more to mages than staring at a bowl of water!" Gilli defends, lifting his chin. "We also stare at clear-cut crystals, I'll have you know!"

Gilli and Mordred stare at each other. After a beat, they both burst out laughing, eyes crinkling with mirth. Merlin cannot quite fight down the smile threatening his lips at their antics. They are so unusually carefree and childlike, unburdened in a way no magicians are under Uther's rule. Because of this, Merlin completely sheds all the biased notions he has of them; this Gilli and Mordred are completely different at the core. This is not the man who once tried to kill King Uther, and this is not the druid prophesied to end Arthur's life.

"What's the difference between a mage and a sorcerer?" Merlin feels comfortable enough to ask the question that has been bugging him since the night before. Gaius and Merlin himself has been using the term interchangeably but clearly, in this world, there is a distinction.

Four sets of wide eyes settle on him as soon as the words leave his lips. Merlin shrinks a bit from their incredulous stares, wondering if he should have just figured out the answer to his question instead of asking.

"Have you been living under a rock?" Selly is a portrait of indignation, as if he's taking Merlin's ignorance as a personal offence. "Even I know the answer to that!"

"W - Well, I'm not very educated in the ways of magic. Too busy with other things to learn." Merlin replies truthfully, sounding properly apologetic mainly to calm Selly down. Hastily, he repeats the question to prevent any further probing about his lack of knowledge. "So, mages and sorcerers?"

Thankfully, Mordred accepts his excuse and answers casually, "Sorcerers are usually ones whose expertise lie in elemental magic." Mordred whispers a short spell, the fingers in one hand shimmying smoothly. His eyes flash a bright gold. Water ascends from his cup, weaving a beautiful trail in the air. "Sorcerers are very good at manipulating water, fire, air, earth, lightning, metal, or some other naturally occurring anomaly."

Tom, Selly, Kelly, and Merlin watch with no little bit of admiration as Mordred brings the water back down to the tankard without spilling a single drop.

Gilli rolls his eyes, swallowing another morsel of his meal. "Show-off." He proceeds to continue Mordred's explanation. "Mages, on the other hand, are ones who prefer arcane types of magic. Mixing potions, healing flesh wounds, scrying for information, and the like."

Oh. _It is no wonder Gaius is labeled as a mage here_. "What's a warlock then? Is it another term for sorcerers?" Merlin is almost sure his guess is right.

When Tom, Mordred, and Gilli visibly bristles, however, Merlin suspects his guess is actually very very wrong. Selly soundlessly forms the word 'warlock', as clueless as Merlin as to its connotation.

"No, a warlock is not another term for sorcerers," Mordred responds calmly. Too calmly.

Gilli whirls towards him, anger radiating from his posture. "Has someone called you that? Tell me who!" His expression darkens. "I'll give them the tongue-lashing of a lifetime!"

Merlin imagines Gilli mouthing off to Kilgharrah, and decides it's better to lie. "N-No. I just - I just heard it in passing and wondered what it meant."

Gilli huffs, barely mollified at that. "It's a very rude word, Merlin," is all he deigns to say on the matter.

The inn-owner tells his child in a firm tone that brook no argument, "Don't repeat that word, Selly, all right?"

Selly nods obediently, still as confused as Merlin. Merlin chooses not to push the issue further, figuring that he has stepped on too many toes for the day with his questions. Obviously, 'warlock' is an insulting title in this realm. Has Kilgharrah been purposely mocking him all this time? He feels belatedly offended. When he gets back, he'll need to have a serious talk with that blasted dragon.

Tom goes back to work once more when the calls of the patrons for more mead get too deafening. Selly drags Merlin into another conversation, rambling about the history and purpose of the Apprentice Exam. It's information that Merlin has already garnered the night before but the warlock listens patiently nonetheless.

"Did your father participate in the exam before?" Merlin asks Selly, certain that Tom is the cause of the boy's interest in the magical recruitment.

Selly's mouth closes with a click. He appears wrong-footed. "Da can't do magic."

"What?" Merlin nearly exclaims. "B-But -" _He was executed for the crime of sorcery in my Camelot._

"Da might not have had magic but he's still the best da ever!" Selly declares proudly. Merlin barely hears the words, mind already working on the implications of Selly's previous statement.

If Tom can't do magic, then how was he charged with the crime? Merlin knows innocents are sometimes charged with crimes they did not do - Gwen's trips to the dungeons are proof of that - but what exactly did Tom, a man without magic, do in Merlin's world that landed him in the execution block?

Another question arises as Merlin's thoughts progress; where is Selly in Merlin's world? The servant stares at the said child as Selly continues to sing praises about his father. A hyper boy like Selly will surely leave an impression. Had he been living in Camelot, Merlin will surely have met him. Mayhaps someone has taken him out of the kingdom when his father was executed, smuggling him away to keep him safe? Seven years ago . . . Selly would have been a mere babe. Or perhaps Selly simply hadn't been born in the warlock's world? Or maybe . . .

Merlin never did find out the details of Tom's trial; the man clearly loves his son and . . . the servant knows Uther's crusade against the Old Religion did not exclude even the youngest of children.

A sour taste climbs the back of his throat. Merlin's magic simmers quietly just beneath his skin at the mere possibility. He fails to notice Mordred's head snapping up and to him.

"I'm certain your father has talents that far exceed magical ones," Merlin replies with an earnest smile, subtly tightening his hold over his magic.

Selly nods in a rapid rate that Merlin fears he may nod his head off. "He does! Did you know he can fold his eyelids outward? It's horrible and amazing!"

That invokes a laugh out of Merlin, dissolving his downtrodden mood. "That _is_ incredible."

Selly and Kelly giggles with Merlin. He resumes his tales about his father's fascinating exploits and skills. Most stories involve the use of hardy pans, and sticky food.

A few minutes later, Mordred and Gilli finish their respective breakfasts. They call for Tom and pay three silvers for the meals and the room. Merlin guiltily shifts in his seat, hoping that he will find a way to pay back Tom's kindness in full soon. Mordred and Gilli also rent the room for the whole day, opting to leave their clothes and knick knacks in Tom's inn while exam is taking place.

"Hopefully, when we come and fetch our things later, it's to transfer them to the castle," Gilli remarks blithely as he gets to his feet. Mordred follows his lead, smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt as he rises.

"Da and I will come and cheer you on from the stands!" Selly informs them, beaming. "And Kelly too, of course." The griffin chirrups merrily.

"F-From the stands?" An audience is allowed during the exam? Merlin supposes that since the sorcerers' tests are held outdoors, people will be watching for entertainment. It's no different from jousts and tournaments after all.

"We'll see you later then, Selly," Mordred promises with a small smile. "Wish us luck!"

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"If you lot ever need jobs," Levi slurs out as the three of them are exiting the tavern. "My fine establishment is located at the end of the road." He sends them what may have been a wink or simply weird blinks. "Especially for you," he points at Merlin or maybe at Mordred. They know not because the finger is swaying widely.

Mordred's brows rise. Gilli and Merlin remain befuddled. "We'll keep that in mind," the druid says with no levity. He pushes both Gilli and Merlin out of the door before both of them can ask for clarification.

"He accosted me earlier too," Merlin confides outside, now terribly curious as to what kind of work the man is offering. Mordred seems to know. "Tom implies that he was recruiting."

"Wonder what kind of job it is." Gilli hums. "He must be desperate for workers if he's recruiting in a tavern."

The corners of Mordred's lips quirk upwards. "Do you want to know?"

Merlin and Gilli nod, leaning closer to the druid. Mordred whispers the answer in the crowded street.

"Oh," Merlin says feebly. Not illegal but definitely shady.

"Makes sense, I suppose," Gilli follows, voice just as weak.

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The castle looks no different from the outside, Merlin notes as he stares up at the north tower. The same gray bricks, the same shape of the turrets, the same enormous windows . . . A pang of homesickness hit him suddenly, stinging his eyes.

The warlock walks towards one of the archway, wanting to see if the castle is the same from the inside, wanting to see if the same steps lead toward familiar rooms. A feet away from the entrance, he smacks into something firm and unyielding. He staggers back, disoriented and holding onto his throbbing nose.

"What?"

He slowly extends an arm and his palm meets an invisible barrier. He moves his hand to another spot. The same resistance halts him. He pushes against it, lightly at first. When the barrier does not give, he increases the force, almost putting all of his weight against it.

What manner of spell is this? Merlin frowns, ceasing his attempts to overcome it.

"Merlin!" Gilli and Mordred run toward him, confusion etched on their features. "What are you doing? The registration tables are on the east side of the castle."

"There's something -" Merlin presses a hand against the invisible barrier again. "See?"

"Oh!" Mordred siddles beside him and skims the barrier with the pads of his fingers. "It's the castle shield." His face and voice are filled with undeniable reverence.

To Merlin, it looks a bit like the druid is caressing air. "T-The castle shield?"

Gilli walks towards them and joins them. "It is said to be the combined work of hundreds of sorcerers and mages under Queen Ygraine's employ. It surrounds the whole of the castle." The mage grins brightly, tapping on the barrier. The sound of muffled underwater bubbles is produced by Gilli's actions.

Merlin denotes that yet again, no one has made mention of King Uther. Merlin is itching to find out where that king is and what happened to him in this world but refrains from asking. He has to figure that out for himself, seeing as everyone seems to know the answer and thinks it's obvious. The warlock knows he will only draw suspicion and attention to himself if he lets his ignorance known about the matter.

"No physical or magical force can lay a single scratch on it," Mordred continues praising, tone that of a child receiving presents for the first time. "And no intruder can ever hope to penetrate it."

The warlock's interest is piqued. That sounds exactly like what Merlin's Camelot needs. Such a shield will definitely make Merlin's job of protecting Arthur easier; the warlock can remember more than one instance wherein trouble could have been avoided if the security around the castle is tighter.

"How do people get in then?" Even as the question leaves his mouth, Merlin recalls the question guards at the entrance posed. _Where's your castle talisman then?_ "You need a talisman to go through it?"

"Yes." Mordred turns to Merlin, bright smile never wavering. "Each talisman is tailored to the person wearing it. If anyone steals it from them and tries to use it, the shield will still deny them entry." Mordred strokes the magical wall once more, longing in his features. "Isn't it magnificent? Imagine, before the end of the day, we'll get our very own talismans and be able to get enter the castle!"

Merlin supposes it will be difficult to sneak in to the castle - not that the warlock has any plans of that. He just needs to talk to Gaius and he can do that outside the castle.

"Hurry up, lad!" Quick footfalls pound on the stoned pavement, and an awfully familiar voice echoes through the area. "The exam's starting soon."

Merlin, along with Gilli and Mordred, whirls around to face the people striding towards their direction. One of them is a tall brunette with short curly hair and narrow eyes. _Morris,_ Merlin immediately recognizes. Morris was Arthur's previous manservant, one whose job Merlin stole. He winces inwardly, remembering the man's cold shoulder for weeks and refusal to train him for the role. They eventually came into a mutual agreement, and, not quite friendship but something close to it.

Morris is carrying in his arms a stack of thick books. The pile nearly blocks his vision but he manages to gracefully navigate through the path nonetheless.

The man leading and ordering him around is . . . Merlin blinks, trying to clear his vision. The man's face and voice clearly belong to Gaius. Little else does, however.

Purple fineries of tunics and breeches wrap snugly around lean arms and torso. Long white hair, the length of which reaches mid-back, gathers in a tight ponytail, the ends swinging slightly with the man's movements. Instead of a hunched back, the man walks with his chest out, dignity and nobility drape heavily on his shoulders like the blood red cape he is currently sporting.

Merlin gapes unbecomingly, struggling to wrap his head on yet another anomaly. Gilli decides to do something more productive.

"Mage Gaius!" Gilli exclaims, excitement overflowing.

The man and Morris glances at the trio. There is no spark of recognition as Gaius' gaze go over Merlin's form. The warlock's heart sinks. Of course, this is clearly not his mentor. Of course this Gaius does not know him. It occurs to Merlin then that his friends, should he meet them in this world, will all fail to recognize him. They do not share the same memories he's had with them. His stomach turns at the notion, and he swallows past the ball of distress building in his throat. His fingers flit over the metal under his tunic as he feels, for the first time, utterly alone in this.

Gaius nods at them in acknowledgement but his treads do not falter.

Merlin realizes this is the opportunity he has been waiting for. Pushing away the unreasonable hurt to the back of his mind, he hurriedly approaches the physician, "Ga - Mage Gaius, if I can -"

Gaius deftly holds out a palm, interrupting Merlin. "I'm very busy, lad," he replies stiffly.

Merlin quickens his pace to match Gaius'. "It'll only take a few minutes, I promise!" Darn it, Gaius isn't even looking at him.

Mordred and Gilli both grab each of the warlock's arms as he nears the northern entrance of the castle and pulls him back, saving him from slapping against the invisible barrier again. The shield lets Gaius and Morris pass without a fuss. Morris looks back at them with a confused frown but Gaius resumes walking inside the castle without a backward glance.

When both disappear from sight, Gilli scowls at Merlin. "You shouldn't bother Mage Gaius. He's very busy preparing for the mages' exams," he chastises.

Merlin blinks away the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "Yes, m-my mistake," he replies, voice thick. Even when Gaius had been possessed by the goblin, he hadn't treated Merlin like he wasn't even worth a second glance. Merlin's used to that treatment from visiting nobles but not from the man who wears his mentor's face.

Gilli's features smoothens upon detecting the melancholic quality of his tone. "Merlin?"

The warlock shakes off their grips. "I'm fine," he assures, sounding otherwise.

"Some nobles act as such," Mordred says gingerly. "Don't worry about it. We'll prove ourselves to them soon enough." He claps a hand around Merlin's should in comfort.

Nobles? Oh, Merlin has forgotten that Gaius must have noble blood in him to be appointed court physician. His mentor doesn't act like a pompous ass most of the time. _But that wasn't Gaius_ , Merlin tells himself. Just as this Mordred and Gilli are not the ones from his world. It's just . . . the warlock stupidly assumed this Gaius will have the same attitude towards Merlin as his counterpart. The warlock rids himself of the disappointment piercing his chest. He should not have expected anything.

"And I'm sure Mage Gaius is just busy at the moment to talk to us," Gilli defends vehemently. "The exam is today after all."

"Right." This Gaius also does not know him in any possible way so why would the physician give him the time of the day?

He must've sounded like an entitled brat earlier, demanding the mage's time. The warlock grimaces. Mordred is right. Merlin needs to prove himself in this world just as he's proven himself to his Gaius over the years. He needs to be worth this Gaius' time.

"Let's get registered for the exam then." He gives them a sunny smile, one that, Arthur remarks, makes him look like an oblivious naive peasant boy.

Mordred and Gilli seems taken aback by his sudden enthusiasm. They offer their own smiles though - a bright one from Gilli and a restrained small one from Mordred.

"Let's hurry up! I'm sure the lines are long now." Gilli beckons them forward as he hastens his steps himself. "I'll get a sunburn if we stand too long in the sun."

Mordred shoots Gilli a teasing remark, saying Gilli would look better with a bit of sun on his skin. Merlin's smile drops as the two turn away from him. He glances at the castle from time to time as they walk.

A shielded castle that is impossible to breach and a Gaius that have little patience for ordinary commoners . . . Merlin sighs heavily, coming to an irrevocable conclusion. A talisman is needed to get inside the castle and a talisman is given to a chosen apprentice.

If Merlin wants to talk to Gaius and desires for the mage to really listen, the warlock needs to get chosen as an apprentice. He groans to himself. Now, he has to actually make an effort in the exam.

 _Should be easy_ , Merlin tries to think positively. He has done some extensive magic to defend Camelot before and that surely counts for something - nevermind that he barely uses his magic aside from those instances, nevermind that he has read _one_ spellbook, nevermind that he knows nothing of the magical concepts that seem obvious to all magic-users of the realm, nevermind that the other applicants have had _weeks_ to prepare, nevermind that he's probably going to make a fool of himself because he has never been a participant to any sort of contest before.

He groans again. He thinks finding a hole or weakness in the castle shield will be less impossible.

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 **A/N:**

Thank you so much **PurpleFlyingBird** from FF . net and **blue-skies88** from tumblr for bouncing ideas with me. You guys are awesome and the next chapters are for/from you!

I've rewritten this chapter so many times and had to delete so much of the conversation. I'll probably post them as deleted scenes or AUs to this AU (haha) sometime in the far future.

Now for some fun facts!

The worldbuilding of this story relies heavily on the glimpses of magic BBC Merlin has shown us.

 **Gendershifting spell** : Based on The Dolma. Lol, I love that character!

 **Castle Shield:** Inspired by the shield Merlin used when Kilgharrah tried to fry him

Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!

If you enjoy my content, please consider buying me coffee ;)

Have an absolutely magic-filled day!

~ Vividpast


	8. Fill the World With Sunshine

**Chapter Summary:** The trio registers for the exam and meets an unexpected celebrity.

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Chapter VII: Fill the World With Sunshine

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When the three of them turn the corner that leads to the eastern side of the castle, bustling crowds meet their sight and chatter fills the once quiet air.

Gilli moans in exasperation. "I knew we shouldn't have dawdled!"

Mordred claps his friend's back, unperturbed by the intimidatingly large mob. "There, there. At least you personally got to meet Mage Gaius."

Gilli grumbles but concedes to Mordred's point, looking slightly mollified. The trio weaves through the horde of applicants, struggling to find and join the shortest line. Seeing as more people are pouring in by the minute and each line is at least twelve people long, the quest is more difficult than they initially think.

Merlin peers at the proceedings ahead as Gilli and Mordred search, unable to curb his desire to find out what the long lines are for. Even when the centuries-old traditional no-rules tournament was held in his Camelot, the lines never stretched as far. On the other hand, even that tournament didn't have nearly as much participants as this exam clearly does.

An assortment of people form roughly six lines. There are some as young as sixteen summers and those as old as twenty-five. There are blondes, brunettes, red-haired and dark-haired, males and females wearing either earth-colored garments or lavishly colorful wears and headdresses. Most of them are performing simple spells such as creating a small fire or lifting stones while waiting in line. Merlin's heart clenches once more at the casual and open use of magic in front of Camelot's castle; he has never before seen such an impossible sight.

The front of each line ends at varnished wooden tables. From the little Merlin can glimpse, parchments and quills litter the surface of the opulent tables. On the other side, six finely dressed men and women are seated beneath the shade of an enormous agape red tent. Each of them are conversing with an applicant in front of the line, countenance varying from polite to bored. Merlin supposes the lengths of their talks cause the long lines; they seem to be exchanging more than just names and birthplaces. In one line, the seated man hands an applicant, a blonde girl of sixteen summers, an unusually shaped black stone. The girl accepts it without hesitation in her palm and then -

Distracted by his intense observation of the affairs, Merlin reckons that he really should have expected what happened next.

There is an applicant already obediently standing in a line, a boy with hair the color of hay running off in a hurry, and Merlin who is absentmindedly following behind Gilli and Mordred. After two more moments, the paths of these three collide quite violently.

The air abandons Merlin's lungs as he, for the second time that morning alone, slams into a firm clothy surface. However, this time, the impact does more than force him back; his feet betray his clumsy self and lose the ground underneath them. Someone yelps and the world is spinning and tanned hands are grappling with Merlin's shoulders. Earth-colored cloth fills Merlin's vision and the fluttering of leather reaches his ears. He sees a sleeve and a pale slender hand stretching towards him but fail to grasp him. Merlin braces himself against the fall using his elbows, and bites off a cry when spikes of electrified pain climb up his forearms. A split second later, All his efforts to prevent his head from meeting the ground fail as a heavy body crashes right on top of him. His back unceremoniously lands flat on the dirt. This time, Merlin lets out a groan.

"Sorry!" The boy that is languishing on his torso swiftly sits up, thighs bracketing the warlock's hips. His bright green eyes refuse to focus on Merlin's face but his expression exude mortification and earnestness. "I'm so sorry!" He start patting down Merlin's chest and stomach for injuries. "Are you hurt? Oh Goddess, I'm really stupid and clumsy. Oh no, your head!" The boy's fingers sweep the back of Merlin's skull, pulling at hair. "Does your head hurt? Do you feel dizzy?"

"Uh, no, I-I'm fine." Merlin awkwardly disentangles himself from the boy, attempting to escape the boy's fussy ministrations. Thankfully, Merlin thinks he won't suffer a head wound for the second time that week.

The applicant donning a brown cloak stands in front of them, still and silent. Even with the hood up and their face shrouded in shadows, their gaze is evidently on Merlin and the boy. Slowly, they lower their outstretched arm.

"Merlin!" Both Gilli and Mordred call out upon seeing the warlock's sprawled out form. The druid and mage dash toward the fallen men and help them get back on their feet.

"I'm really sorry!" The boy continues babbling apologies as they dust the dirt out of their clothes. "I've forgotten my glasses and I was in a hurry, I could barely see without them, I don't even know _how_ I managed to -"

"Breathe." Mordred halts the boy's endless rambling, although Merlin finds amusement dancing in the druid's eyes. The boy complies, panting like he can't get enough air in one breath and the next. Mordred turns to Merlin. "Will you be willing to accept his apology, Merlin?"

"The fault is all mine," Merlin admits hastily, trying to placate the nearly breathless boy. "I wasn't watching where I was going." The warlock switches his gaze to the cloaked applicant, the third victim of the altercation. "I apologize for bumping into you too. I shouldn't have been daydreaming." Merlin gives them a feeble and apologetic smile.

The boy looks utterly relieved. "No harm done on my side!"

The cloaked applicant nods in agreement and replies, "None on mine as well."

The smile freezes on Merlin's face and every hair on his body prickles. He distantly notes the boy bidding them farewell and hurrying off somewhere. The warlock's stare has locked onto the the shadows covering the figure's face, trying to make out their features. The recipient of the scrutiny stiffens and subtly pushes their hood further up.

"Are you sure you're fine, Merlin?" Gilli's concerned inquiry jerks the warlock's attention to him. The mage quickly gives him a once-over, attempting to determine any injuries.

"We've no idea you're so fond of the soil here in Camelot," Mordred remarks with a smirk.

Gilli elbows his friend in the stomach. "Don't tease him."

"Y-Yes, I'm all right." Merlin eyes the veiled applicant once more, wanting no more than to rip off their hood and confirm their identity. But what then? This isn't his world. If they are who he suspects and he manages to prove it, what is his next course of action?

 _Absolutely nothing_ , Merlin concludes because there is nothing for him to do. No matter how much he knows them in his world, he knows nothing of their circumstances in this one. He vows to avoid them from here on out; to do otherwise will just complicate matters.

"Come on then." Mordred beckons them, already walking ahead. "I think I saw the shortest line over there."

Gilli and Merlin trail behind him, the former conveying more enthusiasm at Mordred's fruitful find than the latter. The warlock glances at cloaked figure once more and catches them facing his direction. He forcefully tears his gaze away, hands curling into a fist on his sides.

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"What are the tests like?" Merlin asks without preamble when they get settled in a line, trying to stop himself from thinking about the applicant he has bumped into. "We're not going to fight each other but how are they going to appraise our m-magic?"

"The exam changes every time." Gilli bites his lower lip, apprehension hinting at his face. "No one knows how we're going to be tested except for the ones judging us."

"Don't worry, Merlin, we haven't heard of anyone dying from the exam," Mordred reassures with a boyish and mischievous grin. "Though there are a few who may have lost a limb or two."

"Sounds about right," Merlin mumbles, letting out a sigh. Given the turn of his luck in the past few days, Merlin half-expected himself to be knocked out again in the duration of the exam.

It seems there is no way to actually prepare for the exam. It means he may be in slightly even footing with the other applicants; they are just as clueless as he is.

"Why does it take so long for the exam officials to talk to each person?" Gilli frowns, voice dipping in a whine.

Just then, the applicant at the front finishes speaking with the seated woman - the exam official, Merlin presumes - and proceeds to the training grounds. The trio steps forward as the line moves.

The mage wipes the sweat dotting his brows with the back of his hand. "What can they possibly be talking about?"

Merlin agrees with the sentiment. Since the registration is located at the east side of the castle, the people waiting in line can find no shade to defend against the intense mid-morning heat. Except, of course, if they are already first in line and can bask in the shadow the enormous tent is providing the exam officials. Merlin is used to being under the sun at length though, courtesy of Arthur's impossible chores and quests-that-princes-should-do-alone. Still, he actually doesn't want to needlessly suffer, and hopes the line moves a bit faster.

Mordred shrugs, looking totally unaffected, eyes glimmering and lips clearly fighting down a smile. "It's not that bad, waiting in line. You get the chance to observe all the people you'll be competing with." He takes a fleeting glance around the area to prove his point.

Their line shortens once more and they dutifully push forward.

Merlin feels a bead of sweat rolling down his right temple. He uses his palm to flick it away before remembering his neckerchief. He is sure he can find a clean spot in it somewhere . . . or he can perform a quick cleaning spell to remove the remnants of Selly's food, with magic allowed in Camelot and all.

"' _Not that_ ' - It's so hot!" Gilli complains, indignant that Mordred should ever think that it is anything but. "How can you not feel that?"

Merlin reaches into and rummages around his jacket pocket. He pauses. He could have sworn -

"You utter clod!" Gilli's sudden and emphatic exclamation nearly makes Merlin jump. "You're using a cooling spell."

"A cooling spell?" Merlin searches for anything different in Mordred's appearance.

Mordred, unable to keep his expression straight in the face of Gilli's accusation, snickers akin to a mischievous teen stealing their neighbor's socks. Merlin notes, for the first time, that not a hint of perspiration plagues the druid.

"Use one on me too!" The mage demands fiercely, stepping adamantly closer to the druid.

"All right, all right, calm down." Mordred lets out one last boisterous laugh. He clasps Gilli's shoulders. " _Gecélan_." His eyes flash a brilliant gold, and Merlin feels a brief whiff of a cool breeze radiate from him.

Gilli sighs in relief, shoulders visibly slumping. "I can't believe you would wait until I asked to do that."

"You're the one who told us to save our magic for the exam." Mordred's ribbing earns him a punch on the shoulder from the mage. The druid turns his attention to Merlin. "Merlin, if you want?" He wiggles his fingers. "I promise I won't purposely freeze you to death."

"You . . . You want to do magic on me?"

Hesitation grips Merlin. He knows Gilli must have used a healing spell on him days before but now that he is conscious and aware . . . images of cold blue eyes and a cracked colored window races in his mind even though he has promised himself never to compare the two again. Several other memories flash in his mind's eye: a fireball spinning towards his chest, a blast of air causing him to smack against stone walls, a snake head burrowing its way at the back of his neck with green eyes drowning him with contempt -

Merlin fights down a shudder. He plasters on a wide smile, hand coming up to rub the back of his bare neck where a marginally raised portion of skin meets the pads of his fingers. "Thank you but I think I can endure the heat for a little while."

Mordred drops his arms, cocking a brow. "If you're sure."

The warlock nods curtly, gaze flitting back to the cloaked applicant that he has been trying hard not to think about. He is slightly astonished to find them already in front of their own line. Then, Merlin's eyes wander to Mordred, who has began lecturing Gilli about some useful enchantment or another. A ball of uneasiness settles at the pit of his stomach. How are they are both - No, no. Merlin smothers the line of thought halfway through. This is not his reality, he reminds himself.

Suddenly, a wave of gasps and murmurs ripples through the crowd, startling them out of their discussions. The three of them search for the source of commotion.

Merlin finds it immediately because it is the first place his head whipped to. Everyone's attention is on the brown-cloaked applicant, whose right hand is loosely wrapped around an irregularly shaped stone. The stone glows a soft pure white light. Merlin blinks in mild bemusement; he has only seen black stones on the tables. He wonders where the white stones were hidden.

"A White Level," someone mutters reverently.

"They're definitely going to get chosen," another remarks, a hint of worry slipping in their voice.

"They might have taken a _Drýcræftéaca_ potion, you know?" one sneers.

"The officials will surely disqualify them for that."

Merlin knows not what the fuss is all about and is about to ask for clarification. But then, the cloaked applicant gently sets the crystal down on the table. As soon as their touch retracts from the stone, the white ebbs away and lustrous black takes its place. Merlin's eyes widen fractionally. _The stones glow white upon touch?_

The exam official in front of the cloaked applicant appears undoubtedly impressed. Most of the people remaining in line express different variation of disbelief and wonder. Merlin feels his stomach twists into uncomfortable knots, more than confused at the reactions of the people around him. What is so special about a black rock turning white? What do the stones do?

A middle-aged guard approaches the cloaked figure. "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to take the hood down," the guard says as politely as possible.

"Yes." The exam official clears his throat, picking up a quill and gathering his composure. "We can't have any, uh, suspicious character running about. We also need your name."

The applicant dithers, fingers gripping the material of their hood. After a short while, they give a sharp nod. "I understand."

They reach out and pull the hood of their cloak down to rest on their shoulders. Behind the shadows of the cloak lie long dark locks framing a pale slender face. Lips painted a deep red press in a tight line. A straight back and confident countenance emerge, although emerald eyes bely a hint of uncertainty.

Merlin detects the meaning behind every gesture and every tic because he has known them. He has once known her.

Chin lifted, she speaks, "I am Morgana Le Fay."

Merlin has almost forgotten what Morgana looks like without a hateful glower. Now, he drinks his fill of her face free of maliciousness, of the smoothened lines on her forehead and the tender smile touching her lips; he has thought he will never see such visage from her again. A pang of remorse shoots through his chest, terribly missing the friend he once betrayed.

"Did she just say _'Morgana Le Fay'_?" Gilli whispers harshly, eyes almost popping out.

Even Mordred is fazed, mouth opening and closing not unlike a landed fish. After several moments, he releases a quiet groan. "Drat, why did she have to apply the same time as us?"

Morgana cocks an amused brow at the gaping exam official and guard, unheeding of the whispers and exclamations surging through the crowd. "I believe you have some more questions?" Morgana prompts gently, hands clasped together in front of her.

"O-Of course." The exam official yet again visibly gathers his composure, swallowing audibly.

Merlin can listen no longer and tears his attention away from her. He sees a once friend; at the same time, however, he cannot help but envision hidden smirks, glinting scheming eyes, and treacherous sneers reflected upon her benign mien. _They're not the same person,_ Merlin repeats what he has previously told himself regarding Mordred and Gilli.

The warlock misses the quick glance thrown his way by the sorceress currently occupying his thoughts.

"There goes the spot for the Court Sorcerer's apprentice," Mordred grumbles, tracking Morgana's movements as she strides towards the training grounds after her short conversation with the official.

"Do you know her?" Merlin inquires as offhandedly as he can of Mordred.

"Everyone knows the prodigious Lady Morgana," Mordred replies, preceded by a hopeless sigh.

Gilli pats his friend's back in comfort. "There, there, Mordred. You were never going to get that spot in the first place."

Mordred responds by muttering a spell. Judging by Gilli's surprised squawk and the beads of perspiration appearing upon the mage's forehead, the druid has relinquished the cooling enchantment upon the mage.

"Wha - It's true! He has taken only one apprentice in the history of the exam!"

Mordred huffs, crossing his arms. "You don't have to crush my dreams of being the chosen one special enough to rekindle his interest in mentoring."

Merlin tunes out the two as they continue bickering. Mordred has implied Morgana's fame to be the only reason why the druid knows of her. They have not met. Now, however, with her and Mordred vying for the same position, Merlin doubts it will stay that way. What an interesting coincidence that the two would apply for the exam at the same time.

' _The ancient prophecies speak of an alliance of Mordred and Morgana, united in evil_ , _'_ echoes in his mind. Merlin shakes his head and rids himself of such thoughts. He needs to focus on getting home. Whatever prophecies that exist in this world are none of his business.

But what is Morgana's situation in this realm? Is she still of Camelot? Do her parents still live? What deeds of hers ignited her popularity? What of Morgause? Merlin cannot bear the uncertainty and unanswered questions any longer. He turns to Mordred and Gilli, planning to interrupt their argument to interject queries of his own.

"Oi! You're next!" The annoyed voice of an exam official, a young dark-haired woman, interrupts Merlin before he can begin.

It takes the warlock a second more to comprehend that she's referring to him, seeing as there is no longer a person between Merlin and the tables. Mordred and Gilli ceases their bantering, coming to the same realization.

"Go on then, Merlin!" Gilli prompts, clasping both Merlin's shoulders from behind. A gleeful smile adorns his face as he pushes Merlin onwards.

"B-But, maybe you should go first?" Merlin squeaks out. The warlock has neglected to observe the processes happening at the front. "I don't know what to do!" He admits.

Before Mordred or Gilli can reassure him, the exam official drawls out, "None of these people here do, boy. Now, hurry up here so I can explain."

Merlin blinks and then complies after a moment. He staggers near the table, eyes taking in the parchments stacked in two small piles, feathered quills, and an irregularly-shaped black stone lying between them. Strangely, there are no ink bottles around.

The exam official plucks out a parchment from the stack, quill already in hand. "Age?"

"T-Twenty-four winters."

The official tuts, nose wrinkling as she scratches out some words onto the parchment. Ink flows through the tips of the quill even though it hasn't been dipped. "Should've joined a bit earlier. The court's magic-users will be prioritizing younger applicants, understand?"

"Right." Yet another obstacle for Merlin. The warlock attempts to peer into whatever is being written about him. The official shoots him a quelling stare and covers most of the words with a slender hand.

"The use of _Drýcræftéaca_ or any magic-altering substances on yourself or any applicants is strictly prohibited. Do you swear that you've not done such in the past day?" She lifts her gaze and gives the warlock a look one would give to a charlatan trying to sell you forgeries.

"I s-swear that I have not." Magic-altering substances? Merlin hopes he has not inadvertently taken one. His magic does not feel different in any way so he takes that as a good sign.

The exam officials hums. She extends a palm. "Hand."

Merlin places his hand atop hers, curiosity overflowing. With a quick movement, she pricks his index finger with the tip of the quill in her other hand.

"Ow!" Blood bubbles from the small wound. Merlin takes his hand back and glares at the official "What was that for!?" A metallic taste spreads in his mouth as he puts the finger in to staunch the bleeding.

She grimaces unbecomingly at the warlock's actions. After a shake of her head, she writes on the parchment again, ignoring Merlin's question. The ink of the quill remains black even though the nib has been coated with Merlin's blood. The official nods with brief approval.

She meets the warlock's gaze and proceeds to sternly explain, "Had you taken _Drýcræftéaca,_ the ink would have turn a blue color when soaked in your blood." _No trace of illegal substances in blood,_ Merlin finally manages to read. The officials points at the black stone. "Hold that in your palm then."

"What does this one do?" Merlin also points at the stone with his injured finger, now suspicious and hesitant to adhere to her orders.

Belatedly, Merlin notes that behind him, Mordred and Gilli are oddly quiet. He ventures a brief glance at them. He finds them staring intently between him and the stone. Upon seeing him looking back, they plaster on encouraging smiles. Merlin turns his attention back in front; mayhaps they are just as nervous as he is.

The official pauses, looking taken aback at Merlin's question. "You don't know what a _scinncræfte_ crystal is?"

Merlin shakes his head, eyes on the stone - the crystal. That explains the glossy quality of its color. The young woman mutters, "They get worse every darn year," under her breath before ruffling through the papers.

Merlin has no doubt his intelligence has just been insulted. He scowls; it is no fault of his that the Djinn didn't directly pour in knowledge of this new world into his head when he was unwillingly transported.

The official pats the papers down and steeples her fingers together, a condescending expression marring her face. "A _scinncræfte_ crystal measures the magical capability of the one who holds it," she says slowly as if talking to a child incapable of understanding common sense. "The stone will turn a different color; the brighter the color, the greater the magic. We, unfortunately, only accept applicants with Yellow level and above."

"Oh." The warlock stares at the crystal with new eyes, mouth parted.

He doesn't recall encountering such devices in his world. Unbidden, the morbid notion of Uther making use of such crystals to identify sorcerers to burn crosses his mind. He purses his lips and banishes the thought.

So that is why people were so astounded at the white radiance when Morgana held a crystal. Merlin guesses not a lot of magic-users can achieve that shade. "Y-Yellow's a pretty bright color."

"Indeed it is." The exam official bestowed upon Merlin a look one would give a simpleton. Merlin recognizes it because it is the one he gave to Arthur when the king was an _actual_ a simpleton spouting random things. "Now, if you would." She gestures at the crystal with flourish, raising both brows.

Merlin nods, setting his shoulders in a determined line. Surely, all that 'most powerful sorcerer to ever live' counts for something, right? Surely, the _scinncræfte_ crystal will turn at least yellow with him. But then again, a lot of the magic in this world appears quite different from the one in his. With the not-deaths of hundreds of magic-users, there is no doubt that this realm's advances in magic are far greater. The 'most powerful sorcerer to ever live' may just translate to the 'most mediocre magic-user in Camelot'.

He lets out a noisy breath and reaches out with his right hand. He wraps his fingers around the crystal, feeling the ragged edges and smooth facets. It is light, cool, and roughly the size of his palm. He grips it tightly, lifting it nearer to his face.

 _Yellow, yellow, yellow, please turn yellow_ , Merlin chants, unblinking eyes never wavering from the obsidian crystal. Which stays raven-colored.

One, two, three . . . the seconds tick by with the crystal not gaining the slightest bit of hue. For each unchanging second, Merlin's heart gradually thumps its way down to his boots. He knows the whole process should not have been taking this long.

"What?" he hears Gilli breathes out in incredulity.

"But he -" Mordred starts before cutting himself off.

A ferocious frown is inching its way through the exam official's youthful face after ten seconds of nothing. She opens her mouth wide, no doubt preparing a sour speech.

Then, a blinding white light engulfs the whole east side of Camelot's castle.

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 **A/N:**

Thank you, **PurpleFlyingBird** and **Merrr,** for bouncing ideas with me! Thank you so much, **Megan,** for informing me about the dead link in my bio (man, didn't know FF kills the links even in the bio), and for the coffee! You are all so awesome! ^_^

Thanks so much for all the comments, favorites, follows, kudos, and bookmarks. I treasure them always! Many of you asked questions about certain things and fear not! All will be slowly expositioned (hopefully).

I'm so sorry the much anticipated examinations are not in this chapter. But there is a nice BAMF moment there, isn't there? ;)

Check my profile/bio to see my progress on the next chapter!

Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!

If you enjoy my content, please consider buying me coffee (ko-fi c.o.m / vividpast) ;)

Have a day full of sunshine!

~ Vividpast


	9. Remember Who You Are

**Chapter Summary:** Merlin's display with the crystal summons some very important people.

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Chapter VIII: Remember Who You Are

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The Court Sorcerer gazes down through the gap of the half-opened third story window, face solemn. Magic-users of all sorts clump around the long tables positioned just outside the castle shield, numbering approximately a hundred. Guards usher the crowds into organized arrangements, although some rebellious applicants try to cut the line and insert themselves way ahead of the others who came before them. The exam officials are already seated in front of the tables, piles of papers and quills at their hands and glossy black _scinncræfte_ crystals at their side. They have begun processing applicants almost an hour ago, and it seems an hour more is needed to handle the rest.

Already, he distinguishes two who emanate great magical capacity — a pale lean boy in a green tunic and a brown-cloaked hooded figure near the front of the line. If they both prove to be more than their raw power and should they choose the path of sorcerers, he thinks Jayden will gladly have them.

He observes the rest of them with a clinical eye, contemplating and assessing. So deep he is in thought, he only notices he has a companion when they speak.

"Everything seems to be going well." Strands of dirty blonde tresses trickle down from a tightly coiled bun as the man beside him props himself against the window frame.

"It's barely begun, Tristan," he replies monotonously, casting his companion a side glance before he resumes his scrutiny of the people below.

"Is there anyone you favor so far?" Tristan asks, tone casual and features revealing nothing as he gestures with his head at the mass of applicants.

Still, the Court Sorcerer knows of his goal. His fingers tighten imperceptibly on its grip on the window sill. "I've found a few Jayden will surely take a liking to," he says coolly.

"Have you?"

The Court Sorcerer responds with no words, tired of the conversation and hoping Tristan will leave him alone. After several seconds of silence and of the other man's continued presence, he concludes that luck is definitely not on his side this day.

Tristan sighs the sigh of a man preparing for a difficult conversation. "Come now, it's been three years. Won't you consider taking apprentices again? At least one?"

"It'll be four years in a week," he cannot help but correct softly, pointedly overlooking his companion's last remarks. "Not that anyone's counting."

He faces the bustling mass instead of Tristan; nevertheless, he feels the blonde's pitying glance boring through the side of his head. The Court Sorcerer ignores him. He sees a dark-haired lass of barely sixteen summers happily skip towards the northern side of the castle instead of the training grounds. An apprentice mage, then.

Tristan follows his gaze. "She wouldn't want you to be like this, you know?"

The Court Sorcerer snorts. "Your sister? Of course not. She's been hounding me to find potential successors."

"No, not my sister." Tristan pauses, taking a deep breath. "Lily."

Fire flares unbidden on a torch a few feet away. The Court Sorcerer's face mimics a statue as he slowly lifts a hand and extinguishes the fire with a flick of a finger.

Tristan rubs his forehead, grimacing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have —"

"It seems the Lady Morgana's joining us this year," he interrupts smoothly as murmurs burst forth from the crowd below. The brown-cloaked applicant he has been eyeing has just revealed their White Level status and identity, the latter of which is that of the gifted Morgana Le Fay.

"What?" With wide eyes, Tristan leans forward and looks for her. He finds her calmly conversing with an exam official. "What's she doing here?" Tristan whispers harshly, brows rising when he recognizes the face beneath hood. Albeit it has been years since Gorlois and Vivianne's youngest daughter visited Camelot, no one in court can fail to identify her face.

The Court Sorcerer's expression remains unchanged, having already suspected her identity before she even pulled down the hood. Still, Tristan asks the same question he has been asking himself. Last he heard, Vivienne wanted her daughters to study under Mercia's court.

They both watch as the Lady Morgana saunters over the training grounds with other processed participants, indicating her desire to apprentice under a sorcerer. The Court Sorcerer wonders why; in her younger years, she often preferred scrying and mixing potions over performing elemental magic.

Tristan begins, "The Lady Morgana is a brilliant magic-user —"

"And Jayden will be glad to have her should she pass the tests," he finishes, irritation underlining his words.

In another line, a gangly boy in a brown jacket and blue tunic stumbles forward as he takes his turn.

Tristan's fingers tap the stone of the window sill. The lull in their uncomfortable conversation is strained and overflowing with things unsaid. Both are stubborn but neither are patient. The Court Sorcerer opens his mouth, prepare to fire off a snipe that will surely get Tristan to leave.

The spectacle that ensues traps the words in his throat. His breath hitches.

A bright pale light consumes their visions, bathing their surroundings in white. Any kind of sound, even that of the chirping birds, becomes muted in the face of such phenomenon.

"Goddess above!" He hears Tristan yell.

The Court Sorcerer's eyes water and he has to tear his gaze away. Even though he knows no harm can possibly penetrate the castle, he shields himself and Tristan with his sleeved arms, forcing both of them several steps away from the window.

The light dies off just as abruptly as it had come to life. He blinks away the dark spots pelting his view and sprints back to the window, fiercely searching for the cause.

"What the bloody hell was that!?"

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"Watch your footwork, Bedivere! You'll lose a limb if you keep your left leg open like that."

Bedivere nods curtly and swiftly pulls his leg back just before Galahad hits it with a dulled blade. Galahad abruptly switches the direction of his blade, swinging it upwards. Bedivere expertly blocks the strike aimed at his left side.

"Good, good. Galahad, you have to be faster than that."

Ris continues instructing the two young knights, circling them as they spar. His hawk-like eyes observes all the weaknesses and openings they expose. Practicing behind the audience stands gives them quite a bit of protection against the intense heat. The extraneous activity makes them all profusely sweat anyway.

A couple of people walk by, giddy and excitement overflowing from their gestures. Ris glances at them, watching as they enter the training grounds with a skip in their steps. While his view of the training grounds itself is hindered by the high wooden stands placed around the area, Ris can still hear the incessant chatter of the people inside.

 _It seems the seats will be filled again this year,_ Ris concludes by the degree of the noises. The audience is never this many or so enthusiastic when it is the knights themselves holding tournaments.

Bedivere yelps, and Ris' gaze snaps back to the two he is supposed to be mentoring. He sees Bedivere sprawling onto the ground and Galahad pointing a sword at his throat.

The older knights sighs. "All right, that's enough. Cool down." He rummages through the bulging packs gathered at the corner of the field.

Bedivere sits up. "But —"

"The exam's starting soon," Ris interrupts, tossing each of them a waterskin. Both catch them without looking. Ris gracefully leans against the flat surface of the back of the audience stands. "I'd rather not get scolded by our esteemed Court Sorcerer for interrupting a very prestigious event."

"So what? I'll tell him it was all my idea." Something akin to a pout crosses Bedivere's face.

"Which is true," Galahad points out. "But we really should be enjoying the rest of our day off," Galahad mutters before taking a swig from the waterskin.

Every year, on the day of the Apprentice Exam, all the knights are given the day off from their daily training. Their training grounds will be occupied by aspiring sorcerers, and, therefore, cannot be of use to them. But Bedivere, who has just recently been promoted from squire to knight, had not wanted to miss a single day of practice. The young knight, through his youthful charms and sheer stubbornness, has managed to rope in the third-in-command, Ris, and a fellow neophyte, Galahad, into humoring him.

Galahad offers Bedivere a hand. Bedivere takes it and uses it to raise himself back on his feet.

"All the other knights are in the tavern. Why don't we join them?" Galahad recommends hopefully as Bedivere dusts himself off.

 _A pint would not be unpleasant_ , Ris thinks.

Bedivere huffs instead. "All the other knights _except_ the ones that accompanied the Head Knight in the patrol." Envy drips from his every word.

Ris understands his bitterness; when the Head Knight and the second-in-command declared an impromptu patrol before dawn broke that morning and explicitly ordered him to stay behind, Ris can do nothing but comply. He can admit only to himself that he is the tiniest bit wounded at being left behind. Something is clearly afoot and he can only hope they will choose to inform him of the issue soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out another sigh. Yes, a pint is more than welcome at this point.

Bedivere takes a long drink from the wineskin given to him. After wiping his mouth, he resumes whining, "Why wasn't _I_ picked? Why was Gertie, who came to training drunk on more than one occasion, allowed to join?"

"Gertie's a senior knight, Bed," Galahad argues. "And look, even Sir Ris got left behind."

"Well, that's a comfort," Bedivere murmurs, oozing sarcasm.

Ris rolls his eyes, taking little offence. "No respect for your elders, you lot."

A glimmer of white at the corner of their eyes steals their attention, halting their conversation. All their heads snap toward the cause at the same time.

A light brighter than the mid-morning sun originates from the east side of the castle where, incidentally, registration for the exam is being held. Ris remembers the short briefing they had the day before; no one mentioned a scheduled lightshow of any kind before or during the exam. The light fades away soon after as if Ris' suspicions have made it shy.

"What the heck was that?" falls from his mouth as he straightens, uneasiness clawing at him.

The knights exchange calculating glances. After a beat, they simultaneously dash towards the source.

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Merlin, alarm ringing throughout his entire being, flings the crystal away. In midair, the crystal shatters into hundreds of little pieces. The warlock feels and hears it rather than see it because the brilliant light emanating from it clouds everything else. The whiteness unbearably stings his eyes. The blazing light disappears suddenly, as if heeding Merlin's silent plea, and obsidian shards drop onto the wooden table with musical _clinks_.

Merlin stares at the fragments blankly, still seeing dark spots in his vision. He glances at the exam official, who has apparently gotten to her feet in the midst of the whole debacle and now stands a few steps away from the table. The other five officials are also out of their seats, all of them wearing expressions of pure dumbfoundedness. Their gazes keep flicking between Merlin and the crystal shards.

Deafening silence reigns for several moments. Then, a burst of exclamations violently break it.

"What on earth —"

"Did ye see that!?"

"I doubt there's a soul here that didn't."

"That crystal just _exploded_."

"What the hell happened?"

The warlock himself would like to know. Judging by their slack jaws, Merlin reckons what happened is more unusual than the crystal turning mere white. Merlin just held the crystal as he has seen others do. What exactly did he do differently? He looks at his hand, the one that grasped the crystal, and curls and uncurls his fingers.

 _The brighter the color, the greater the magic_ , the official has said. Huh. Mayhaps this whole 'most powerful sorcerer to ever live' business does have some merit. The title didn't exactly benefit him before but he is glad it is of some use now.

"Well . . . that was pretty bright, wasn't it?" Merlin remarks before letting out a nervous chuckle.

"' _Pretty bright,'_ he says." A note of hysteria pitches Gilli's voice higher.

Merlin turns to the mage at the remark. Gilli's eyes resemble dinner plates, disbelief and wonder warring in his expression while Mordred . . . The wideness of his azure eyes makes him look vulnerably younger, as does the pinch of genuine fear hinting the edges of his facade. His hand encloses around Gilli's wrist, and he gingerly drags his friend a few inches back. Merlin does not miss the way the druid subtly places himself between the warlock and the mage.

Merlin blinks rapidly in response, unknowing of what to feel. Mordred, who has been nothing but amicable, now treats him as if he's a wild animal on the loose. Merlin's gaze darts back to the shattered remains of the crystal he held; what has the druid gleaned from it that caused him to act undoubtedly wary? He opens his mouth — to reassure them or to express his confusion, he does not know yet. However, before he can speak a word, thunderous footfalls and clanging metal silence the speech out of everyone in the area.

The crowd parts to let through three armored knights and a handful of guards. Two men lead the intimidating group, their nobility status showing in their purposeful gait and regal and colorful apparels. Streak of grey pepper both men's hair, and wrinkles line their eyes, indicating their ages to be more than forty summers. One of them bears blond curls clustered in a bun, his stormy-blue eyes narrowing as he takes in the astounded mob. Merlin, however, is more perturbed by the way the dark-haired noble's glare immediately settles on him. The dip between the noble's brows deepens in a frown as he stalks towards the warlock, his broad and prominent stubbled chin raised determinedly.

Their arrival arouses more whispers, although they are much more subdued than before.

"Who're those then?"

"Some very important nobles, to be sure."

"Ack! Don't you recognize that one from paintings?"

"I think that's the Court Sorcerer!"

Merlin's eyes widen in further alarm at that; his gaze flits between the two nobles, attempting to distinguish which one is the famed Court Sorcerer.

"My lords," each of the exam officials murmurs softly with a bowed head as the two nobleman pass by.

Merlin swallows around the lump in his throat and instantly drops his head and eyes when the dark-haired noble halts less than a feet away. Contrary to Arthur's claims, the servant does know how to act around the highborns; he just chooses to ignore proper etiquette around the king himself. The blonde noble stops half a step behind the dark-haired one, the knights and guards aligning themselves around the former.

From the corner of his eye, the warlock sees Mordred and Gilli emulating his actions. Although, Mordred seems to be sneaking glances at the dark-haired noble, looking akin to a child given the amazing toy he has always wanted.

Ah. So the one piercing the warlock with his eyes is the Court Sorcerer. Good to know.

"Tina." The Court Sorcerer's rough and low voice causes the official that questioned Merlin to jump. "What happened here?"

 _His voice is familiar,_ distantly crosses Merlin's thoughts.

The exam official, Tina, clears her throat. "I-I was just processing an applicant as usual, my lord." With a frail hand, she gestures at Merlin. "I asked him to hold the _scinncræfte_ crystal so I can take note of his magical capability. As you have no doubt seen, the crystal lit up brightly. Then, it shattered." With a slightly trembling finger, she points at the raven-colored shards.

" _Shattered?"_ The blonde noble almost exclaims, hastily approaching the table and observing the remains closer. The knights and guards tense imperceptibly, their grips on their respective weapons tightening. Tina nods vigorously, wide-eyed gaze going back to Merlin.

"Lift your head, boy."

It takes Merlin a while to realize that the Court Sorcerer is talking to him. The warlock slowly looks up, meeting the nobleman's hazel eyes. Merlin attempts to appear as guileless as possible, which isn't too difficult; as far as he knows, he hasn't done anything wrong (yet).

Looking directly at the face of Camelot's Court Sorcerer, Merlin suddenly finds familiarity in the lines of his forehead, on the shape of his nose or maybe on the curve of his jaw. _Where have I seen him?_ Merlin tries to place the noble's features, rather irritated with himself when the answer does not immediately come to him. It is there at the tip of his tongue . . .

The Court Sorcerer's bushy brows furrow deeper, and the noble's lips press into a moue of displeasure. His glare sharpens even more.

Oh, right. Merlin thinks he has been asked a question.

"S-Sorry. Can you repeat that?" A second too late, he adds a "my lord".

"Have you drank or applied any sort of magic-enhancing potions or ointments?" The dark-haired noble emphasizes each and every syllable, annoyance shining through.

Merlin shakes his head vehemently. "N-No, Sire."

"I've checked for that, my lord," Tina interjects respectfully. "His blood is clear."

"A charm, then?" The noble nods at Merlin. "What's that around your neck, boy?"

Without his neckerchief, Merlin realizes what must be showing. His hand darts up to hide the leather cord peeking through his tunic. "Nothing," he replies instinctively, wincing when his voice comes out a bit squeaky. Knowing how he sounds, he amends, "It's just a normal pendant, my lord."

The noble cocks a brow in disbelief. He holds out a palm, his countenance both intimidatingly demanding and coolly expectant.

Merlin valiantly fights the sarcastic remark threatening to erupt from his mouth. If only he knew beforehand how much trouble it would bring him, he never would have laid a single finger on that damn crystal.

 _Better get this over with_. Already, he is tired of all the unnecessary attention he has attracted. _So much for laying low._ He has to remedy this, and acting like an obedient little peasant feels like the right step. With gritted teeth, the warlock calmly removes the cord and its corresponding brooch, trying not to show how much the action pains him. When he releases them atop the noble's hand, Merlin has to stamp down the anxiety threatening to strangle him; rarely has the brooch left his person in the past year.

The Court Sorcerer stares at the brooch for a very long time. Something in his expression shifts, although Merlin fails to read it now. The blonde noble frowns at the Court Sorcerer's prolonged silence and strides towards him. He glimpses the object lying on the other noble's palm, and pauses abruptly.

His head whips to Merlin. "Where did you get this?" he demands, tone a laced with fury and incredulity.

"I, ah, my friend gave it to me as a gift," Merlin answers cautiously, worried now that they are going to claim the brooch for some unreasonable reason.

"And where exactly did your friend get it?" This time, the Court Sorcerer asks the question, voice as casual as one can be but amber eyes promising something dangerous.

Merlin cannot exactly tell them, _Well, it bears his mother's sigil so I assume he inherited it_ because . . . the warlock belatedly comprehends what a thoughtless _idiot_ he is. The brooch bears the sigil of Arthur's mother, _Ygraine_ , who now rules Camelot's court. These two nobles recognize the mark, and are now suspicious as to how and why Merlin, a mere peasant, possesses such a valuable seal.

"M-My friend saw it in the market." Merlin hurriedly weaves a viable story in his mind. "He, uh, he sees the bird! Yes, right there on the brooch is a bird. He thought it would suit me because of my name. Merlin — that's my name. Merlin is a type of bird, you see. S-So, my friend bought it and gave it to me." The warlock clears his throat, mentally patting himself for such a brilliant on-the-spot lie. "Rest assured, it's a complete forgery. It's not even real silver. I-I didn't even realize that it's engraved with such an important sigil until much later."

The nobles, knights and guards are silent as they digest Merlin's story. Meanwhile, the people in the crowd continue gossiping, their words thankfully unintelligible. Merlin does not want to know what kind of assumptions they're spreading.

"I see no runes nor do I sense any magic from this," the dark-haired noble proclaims, face devoid of any emotion. He hands back the brooch.

Merlin accepts it a bit too hastily. When the sigil settles securely underneath his tunic, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Merlin, is it?" The Court Sorcerer waits for the warlock to nod before continuing. "We must resolve this issue and it would be much quicker if you were not pretending to be magically impotent." Judging by the titters that arise, Merlin feels as though he has just been insulted. The nobleman's expression belies nothing though. "I ask you to unsuppress your aura for a moment."

"Right, of course." Merlin nods vigorously, understanding only half of the words the Court Sorcerer spouted. "How — How exactly do I do that?"

The nobles' brows practically fly through their hairlines. The blonde noble looks mightily displeased, as if Merlin has spilled a tray of his favorite food. "Boy, you cannot be —"

"I see." The Court Sorcerer halts the other man's tirade before it can begin. "Very well then. Ris," he calls out.

One of the knights, a middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair cropped near his ears, calmly approaches. Merlin stares at him. He immediately recognizes the weathered face of Tristan, the smuggler who helped them take Camelot back from Morgana's claws for the second time.

The fact that Tristan is a knight of Camelot in this realm comes only as a little bit of a surprise. In Merlin's world, Arthur had offered the smuggler knighthood. However, Tristan, still grieving from the loss of his lover, could not bear to be near the place where she breathed her last.

"Fetch me another crystal." The Court Sorcerer's order snaps Merlin out of his reverie. The knight hurries to obey.

The blonde noble frowns disapprovingly. "Balinor, you cannot possibly believe the boy is telling the truth!"

Merlin loudly chokes on air, causing everyone's eyes to settle on him once more. In his mind's eye, the dark-haired noble's cropped hair and neatly trimmed beard superimposes with the image of the ragged man whom he called father in his memories. Merlin does not know how he missed it.

 _My father's alive_ , is the first coherent notion that occurs to him. A ball of warmth pulses in his chest. Complete bewilderment is the only thing restraining him from doing something stupid like hug the man in front of him. (That first and last time he had held his father in his arms, the man had been on his final moments). _And he is Camelot's Court Sorcerer._ The second one brings forth a wave of hysteria. How? Why? Millions of questions races in his mind, all struggling to be the forefront of his thoughts.

The Court Sorcerer — Balinor, _his father_ — gives off an unimpressed glance as Merlin gapes at him. To the blonde noble, he says, "There's no harm in testing him again, is there? Obsidian _scinncræfte_ crystals can see through any kind of suppression magic."

While Merlin is having his inner crisis, Tristan — Ris? — has grabbed another black crystal from the table. The Court Sorcerer jerks his head at Merlin when the knight holds it aloft. Ris offers the item to the warlock then, his bright cerulean eyes wary and vigilant.

Merlin takes it numbly, still off-kilter.

Ten seconds of tense silence follows.

Then, the same brilliant light consumes the surroundings, forcing everyone to once again shield their eyes. Merlin is less surprised and impressed this time, though the fact that his mind is on other things may be a factor to that.

The light dissipates, and the crystal splinters in Merlin's hands before he can think to drop it. He hisses as a great number of the shards bury themselves into the skin of his palm instead of falling to the ground, creating shallow bleeding lacerations. Blood flows in rivulets along his arm.

Incredulous cries start off once more, each applicant now exchanging anxious glances. The knights, guards, and nobles are oddly quiet and nonplussed.

"Merlin." Gilli draws closely to the warlock, concern etched on his face.

"Gilli." Mordred attempts to grasp his friend's sleeve and pull him back. Unfortunately, Gilli stubbornly pushes ahead.

"It's fine, it's fine," Merlin reassures. He yanks out three fragments in quick succession, wincing. Horror befalls the mage and he reaches out to stop Merlin.

Someone beats Gilli to it. "Don't —" In one swift move, Balinor has encircled his fingers around the wrist of Merlin's injured hand. "— do that."

The warlock startles, almost withdrawing, but the Court Sorcerer's grip holds true. Merlin opens his mouth, words like _'Father?'_ about to stupidly pass through his lips. Thankfully, Balinor gives him a quelling look that steals his speech. "If you carelessly pluck them, they might break off halfway and get stuck."

"Of course." Merlin nods almost mechanically. He starts to take his hand back but the Court Sorcerer does not relent.

" _Áswæpaþ_ ," whispers the Court Sorcerer. Merlin watches with dumb amazement as gold furnishes his irises. It's the first time he has seen his father blatantly do magic.

Pieces of the crystal gently slide out of Merlin's flesh. Even the tiniest shard falls away with little resistance, and the warlock barely feels their movements.

When the last of sliver of crystal deserts Merlin's palm, Balinor mutters another spell. " _Þurhhæle dolgbenn._ " The cuts on the warlock's hand heals without a fuss, leaving not even a scar. Even the pierced skin caused by the exam official's sharp quill disappears.

Finally, the Court Sorcerer releases him to fish an embroidered handkerchief in the space of his sleeves. He sets it atop Merlin's palm and the obviously expensive cloth is immediately soaked with blood.

"I apologize for the implied accusations," the Court Sorcerer says stiffly as Merlin properly wipes his hands. Balinor does not appear at all apologetic. To Tina, he says flippantly, "Note him down as White Level and proceed."

"Balinor —"

"Tristan." The Court Sorcerer shoots the blonde noble a deadpan look. "Would you prefer that we let him smash every _scinncræfte_ crystal we have? They don't exactly grow on trees."

"But —"

"Ris, with me. We'll need to fetch two more crystals." The Court Sorcerer gives the huge crowd a once-over. "I doubt we'll finish in time with only four."

With that, the Balinor and Ris strides into the castle. The blonde noble, Tristan, and the other knights follow them reluctantly after bestowing unreadable glances upon Merlin. The guards go back to their posts, muttering to themselves.

Eventually, the exam officials sit back down. They call upon the first applicant in line and resumes the registration. Slowly, most of the gazes stray away from Merlin as the proceedings continue. Normalcy never returned, though; the air is filled with a bubble of anticipation that seems minutes away from bursting.

Gilli, without preamble, takes Merlin's newly healed hand into his own. "I can't believe the Court Sorcerer used his magic on you!" A big grin almost split his face in half as he examines said Court Sorcerer's handiwork.

"Yeah," Merlin replies distractedly, eyes on the spot where Balinor has disappeared to. He pockets the bloodied handkerchief.

"Look at that. Not even a trace of the wounds."

"If you wanted to hold hands with Merlin," Mordred speaks for the first time in a long while, lips twitching into a smile as he steps forward. "You need not use the Court Sorcerer as an excuse."

Gilli drops Merlin's hand as if scalded. He shoves Mordred, spluttering. Merlin's head snaps at the druid, wondering at the sudden switch of his manner. Just earlier, Mordred had looked ready to get Gilli and himself as far away from the warlock as possible.

Tina clears her throat loudly, getting the trio's attention. "You still have some question to answer."

Merlin steps closer to the tables once more, head still a jumble of half-formed thoughts.

"Name?"

"Um, Merlin."

"Your full name?"

"Merlin of Ealdor."

"Have you apprenticed under anyone?"

Again, Gaius comes to mind but Merlin shakes his head instead.

The exam officials politely asks for a few more information such as how many spells he knows (less than fifty) and where he learned them (in a book).

After dotting the last sentence, Tina explains the additional rules to the exam, "Staffs, charms, crystals, totems or any magical tools are not allowed inside the area during the exam. Some parts of the exam involve a certain degree of risks. Do you agree to participate knowing this?" She pulls out a parchment filled with blocks of texts and reads from it. "The Court of Camelot will not be responsible for any harm inflicted upon participants due to recklessness or failure to follow instructions."

Of course. Merlin never expected any less. "I-I agree."

"Any attempt to violate the rules is grounds for disqualification and/or for banishment from future exams," the exam official emphasizes.

When Merlin nods in understanding, Tina gathers all the papers she has inadvertently scattered. She gestures to her right, offering Merlin a jittery smile. "Kindly proceed to the training grounds and wait for the exam to start."

Merlin blinks. That's it? After all that commotion about the crystal, what followed is a bit underwhelming. Merlin is almost disappointed.

"See you later, Merlin." Gilli bids as Merlin walks towards where he assumed the training grounds are. Mordred gives a small wave. Merlin waves back with a wan smile.

The stroll to the area of the exam leaves Merlin alone with his thoughts for the first time. The revelations of the past few minutes has left him reeling. He rubs his wrists where uncalloused fingers once were, warm with impossible _life_. Balinor acts much the same as he did when Merlin first met him; suspicious, sharp-tongued, and dignified.

But Merlin knows this Balinor is not his father. He mustn't confused himself. His father is dead, has been dead for a few years now. He has grieved him and he has moved on.

He lets out an explosive breath, and strengthens his resolve to avoid complicated matters. To be involve as little as possible in the affairs of the realm that is not his is the best course of action. Everything that has happened or will happen in this world is none of his business.

Likely, after the exam has concluded, Merlin will never again see the one who bears his father's face. After all, what business would Camelot's Court Sorcerer have with a magically inexperienced peasant?

As he enters the training grounds, he pretends the notion does not sadden him in any way.

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 **A/N:**

" **Remember who you are. You are my son, and the one true king. Remember who you are." —Mufasa, The Lion King (1994)**

If you haven't noticed, all my chapter titles are from Disney quotes. Three guesses as to why the chapter title this time is this!

Thanks so much for all the encouraging comments, favorites, follows, kudos, and bookmarks. They always make my day! ^_^

Also, I legitimately didn't realize that the last chapter ended in a cliffhanger. I don't know how I didn't see it but I'm so sorrryyyy, guys. This one's not a cliffhanger. Right?

Wow, so much has happened in this chapter, hasn't it? Some of you predicted this plot twist and I'm very proud of y'all :D.

And so many mysteries has been introduced! I don't usually introduce mysteries before solving the others I previously presented but I realize, it really can't be helped in this story. I dislike having so many mysteries in stories because I am an easily confused lamb that cannot keep track of most of them. Worry not! I'll try to unravel the mysteries as soon as possible. (Do you guys think I should keep a list in my profile about the ongoing mysteries here?)

 **Next up:** People are still reacting and discussing. The first challenge is introduced!

Check my profile/bio to see my progress on the next chapter!

Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!

If you enjoy my content, please consider buying me coffee (ko-fi c.o.m / vividpast) ;)

Don't forget that we are all a soft marshmallow on the inside!

~ Vividpast


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